fS \osj 




mi 



Just Published. The "Popular 
Haudy Speaker. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4, 



/faOQOOOOOOO 




IVEESAL STAGE, 



59. 



S 1059 
B22 P2 

>^<<?own. A Farce in 
<^ -oy George A. Stuart, 
i Male, 1 Female character. 

gneur. A Drama in Three 
By Thomas Archer. 15 Male, 
3 Female characters. 

39. A very pleasant Evening. A 
Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 
3 Male characters. 

40. Brother Ben. A Farce in One 57. 
Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 Male, 3 
Female characters. 

41. Only a Clod. A Comic Drama in 
One Act. By J. P. Simpson. 4 Male, 

1 Female character. 

42. Gaspardo tile Gondolier. A 
Drama in Three Acts. By George 
Almar. 10 Male, 2 Female charac- 
ters. 

43. Sunshine through the Clouds. n 
A Drama in One Act. By Slingshy uu - 
Lawrence. 3 Male, 3 Female char- 
acters. 

44. Don't Judge by Appearances. 
A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Mor- 
ton. 3 Male, 2 Female characters. 

45. IVursey Chickweed. A Farce in "*• 
One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 
Male, 2 Female characters. 

46. Mary Moo ; or, Which shall I 63 - 
Marry? A Farce in One Act. By 
W. E. Suter. 2 Male, 1 Female 
character. 64. 

47. East Lynne. A Drama in Five 
Acts. 8 Male, 7 Female characters. 65. 

4S. The Hidden Band. A Drama in 
Five Acts. By Robert Jones, hi 
Male, 7 Female characters. 66. 

4'J. Silverstone's Wager. ACommedi- 
etta in One Act. By K. K. Andrews. 
4 Male, 3 Female characters. 67. 

50. Dora. A Pastoral Drama in Three 
Acts. By Charles Rcade. 5 Male, 68. 

2 Female characters. 

51. Blanks and Prizes. A Farce in 69. 
One Act. By Dexter Smith. 5 
Male. 2 Female characters. 

i> 52. Old Gooseberry. A Farce in One 70. 
Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male. 
2 Female characters. 



53. Who's Who. A Farce in One Act. 
By T. J. Williams. 3 Male, 2 Fe- 
male characters. 



Bouquet. A Farce in One Act. 2 
Male, 3 Female characters. 

The Wife's Secret. A Play in 
Five Acts. By George W. Lovell. 
10 Male, 2 Female characters. 

The Babes in the Wood. A 

Comedy in Three Acts. By Tom 
Taylor. 10 Male, 3 Female charac- 
ters. 
Put kins : Heir to Castles in the 
Air. A Comic Drama in One Act. 
By W. R. Emerson. 2 Male, 2 Fe- 
male characters. 

An Ugly Customer. A Farce in 
One Act. By Thomas J. Will'omfc. 
3 Male, 2 Female characters. 

Blue and Cherry. A Comedy in 
One Act. 3 Male, 2 Female charac- 
ters. 

A Doubtful Victory. A Comedy 
in One Act. 3 Male, 2 Female char- 
acters. 

The Scarlet Letter. A Drama 'n 
Three Acts. 8 Male, 7 Female char- 
acters. 

Which will have Him P A Vau- 
deville. 1 Male, 2 Female charac- 
ters. 

Madam is Abed. A Vaudeville in 
One Act. 2 Male, 2 Female charac- 
ters. 

The Anonymous Kiss. A Vaude- 
ville. 2 Male, 2 Female characters. 

The Cleft Stick. A Comedy in 
Three Acts. 5 Male, 3 Female char- 
acters. 

A Soldier, a Sailor, a Tinker, 
and a Tailor. A Farce in One 
Act. 4 Male, L' Female characters. 

Give a Dog a Bad Name. A 
Farce. 2 Male, '.' Female Characters. 

Damon and Pythias. A Farce. 
<i Male, 4 Female characters. 

A Husband to Order. A Serio- 
comic Drama in Two Acts. 5 Male, 
3 Female characters. 

Payable on Demand. A Domes- 
tic Drama in Two Acts. 7 Male, 1 
Female character. 



\ 



Price, 15 cents each. Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to 
CEO. Mo BAKER & CO., 

Nos. 41-45 Franklin Street, Boston. 



BY CEORC 

Author of '■'■Amateur Dramas" " 77ie Mimic St 

Stage" " Handy Dramas" " TheExhi^.. 

Titles in tliis Type are We. 
Titles in tliis Type are Tempera* 



V 



DRAMAS. 

/?/ TXr^ ^cA. CZr. 

The Flower of the Family. 5 

male, j female char 15 

Enlisted for the War. 7 male, 3 fe- 
male characters 15 

My Brother's Keeper. 5 male, 3 fe- 
male char 15 

The Little Sroivn Jug. 5 male, 3 
female char 15 

In Two Acts. 
Above the Clouds. 7 male, 3 female 
characters 15 

7 male, 



15 



One Hundred Years Ago. 

.; female char. 
Among the Breakers. 6 male, 4 female 

char i 5 

Bread on the Waters. 5 male, 3 female 

char 15 

Down by the Sea. 6 male, 3 female 

char 15 

Once on a Time. 4 male, 2 female char. 15 
The Lust Loaf. 5 male, 3 female char. 15 

In One Act. 
Stand by the Flag. 5 male char . . . 15 
The Tempter. 3 male, 1 female char. 15 

COMEDIES AND FARCES. 

A Mysterious Disappearance. 4 

male, 3 female char 15 

Paddle Your Own Canoe. 7 male, 

3 female char 15 

A Drop too Much. 4 male, 2 female 

characters. 15 

A Little More Cider. 5 male, 3 fe- 
male char 15 

A Thorn Among the Roses. 2 male, 6 

female char 15 

Never Say Die. 3 male, 3 female char. 15 
Seeing the Elephant. 6 male, 3 female 

char 15 

The Boston Dip. 4 male, 3 female char. 15 
The Duchess of Dublin. 6 male, 4 fe- 
male char 15 

Thirty Minutes for Refreshments. 

4 male, 3 female char 15 

We're, all Teetotalers. 4 male, 2 fe- 
male char 15 

Male Characters Only. 

A Close Shave. 6 char 15 

A Public Benefactor. 6 char 15 

A Sea of Troubles. 8 char 15 

A Tender Attachment. 7 char. ... 15 

Coals of Fire. 6 char 15 

Freedom of the Press. 8 char. ... 15 



- - 

COMEDIES, &c, continue. 

Shall Our Mothers Vote? 11 char. 15 

Gentlemen of the Jury. 12 char. . . 15 

Humors of the Strike. 8 char. . . 15 

My Uncle the Captain. 6 char. . . 15 

New Brooms Sweep Clean. 6 char. . 15 

The Great Elixir. 9 char 15 

The Hypochondriac. 5 char 15 

The Man tilth the Demijohn. 4 

char jr 

The Runaways. 4 char 15 

The Thief of Time. 6 char 15 

Wanted, a Male Cook. 4 char. ... 15 

Female Characters Only. 

A Love of a Bonnet. 5 char. ... 15 

A Precious Pickle. 6 char 15 

No Ci re no Pay. 7 char. 15 

The Champion of Her Sex. 8 char. . 15 

The Greatest Plague in Life. 8cha. 15 

The Grecian Bend. 7 char 15 

The Red Chignon. 6 char. .... 15 

Using the Weed. 7 char 15 

ALLEGORIES. 

Arranged for Music and Tableaux. 

Lightheart's Pilgrimage. 8 female 
char 15 

The Revolt of the Bees. 9 female 
char 15 

The Sculptor's Triumph, i male, 4 fe- 
male char 15 

The Tournament of Idylcourt. 10 
female char 15 

The War of the Roses. 8 female char. 15 

MUSICAL AND DRAMATIC. 

An Original Idea, i male, 1 female 
char, 15 

Bonbons ; or, the Paint King. 6 male, 
1 female char 25 

Capuletta ; or, Romeo and Juliet 
Restored. 3 male, 1 female char. . 15 

Santa Claus' Frolics 15 

Snow-bound ; or, Alonzo the Brave 
and the Fair Imogene. 3 male, 1 
female char 25 

The Merry Christmas of the Old 
Woman who lived in a Shoe. . . 15 

The Pedler of Very Nice. 7 male 
char .15 

The Seven Ages. A Tableau Entertain- 
ment. Numerous male and female char. 

Too Late for the Train. 2 male char. 

The Visions of Freedom, ii female 
char 



CEO. M. BAKER &. CO., 41-45 Franklin St., Boston 



Baker's Humorous Dialogues. Male characters only. 25 cents. 

Baker's Humorous Dialogues. Female characters only. 25ceutt. 




Just Published. The "Popular Edition" of Baker's Reading Club and 
Handy Speaker. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4, 50 selections in each. Price 15 cents each. 




Jiiateied, accordingto Actof Congress, in the year 16^6'. <iv George M. Bakek, in the Offic oltUe 
Librarian of Congress. at Washington. 



r* 



SPENCER'S UNIVERSAL STAGE. 

Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FAUCES, adapted to either Public 
or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all 
the necessary Stage Business. 




PJtXCE, 15 CENTS EA.CH. B^p-JVo Plays exchanged 



Lost in London. A Drama in 
Three Acts. Male, 4 Female char- 
acters. 

Nicholas Flam. A Comedy in Two 
Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Male, 
3 Female characters. 



3. 



The Welsh Girl. A Comedy in 
One Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 Male, 
2 Female characters. 

4. John Wopp's. A Farce in One Act. 

liy W. E. Suter. 4 Male, 2 Female 
characters. 

5. The Turkish Bath. A Farce in 

One Act. By Montague Williams 
and F. C. Buruand. (i Male, 1 Fe- 
male character. 

6. The Two Puddifoots. A Farce 

in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 

Male, 3 Female characters. 
'i. Old Honesty. A Comic Drama in 

Two Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 
"" Male, 2 Female characters. 
8. Two Gcntiemen in a Fix. A 

Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 

2 Male characters. 
I. Smashington Goit. A Farce in 

One Act. 'By T. J. Williams. 5 Male, 

3 Female characters. 
10 Two Heads Better thanOne. A 

Farce in One Act. By Lenox Home. 

4 Male, 1 Female character. 

11. John Dobbs. A Farce in One Act. 

Bv J. SI. Morton. 5 Male, 2 Female 
characters. 

12. The Baughter of the Regi- 

ment. A Drama in Two Acts. By 
Edward Fitzball. Male, 2 Female 
characters. 

13. Aunt Charlotte's Maid. A Farce 

in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 
Male, 3 Female characters. 

14. Brother Bill and Me. A Farce in 

One Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 Male, 
3 Female characters. 

15. Bone on Both Sides. A Farce in 

Om: AW. By J. M. Morton. 3 
Male, 2 Female characters. 

V- T^unducketty's Picnic. A Farce 
in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 6 
Male, 3 Female characters. 

\i. I've written to Browne. A Farce 
in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 
. Male, :: Female characters. 



18. Lending a Hand. A Farce in One ( 
Act: By G. A. A'Becket. 3 Male, \ 

2 Female characters. 
10. My Precious Betsy. A Farce in ( 

One Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 Male, I 
4 Female characters. 

20. My Turn Next. A Farce in One Act. ( 
By T. J. Williams. 4 Male, 3 Fe- 
male eha. r.-tcrs. 

21. Nine PoJ£i* ;i of the Law. A Com- 
edy in One Act. By Tom Taylor. 
4 Male, :\ Female characters. 

22. The Phantom Breakfast. A 
Farce in One Act. By Charles Sel- 
by. 3 31 ale, 2 Female characters. 

23. Bandelions Bodges. A Farce in ; 
One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 
Male, 2 Female characters. 

24. A Slice of Luck. A Farce in One 
Act. Fy J. SI. Slorton. 4 Male, 2 
Female characters. 

25. Always Intended. A Comedy in > 
One Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 ^ 
Slale. 3 Female characters. 

20. A Bull in a China Shop. A Com- 
edy in Two Acts. By Charles Slat- 
thews. Male, 4 Female characters. 

27. Another Glass. A Drama in One 
Act. By Thomas Slorton. 6 Slale, 

3 Female characters. 

28. Bowled Out, A Farce in One Act. 
By H. T. Craven. 4 Male, 3 Female \ 
characters. 

29. Cousin Tom. A Commedietta in 
One Act. By George Roberts. 3 
Slale, 2 Female characters. 

30. Sarah's Young Man. A Farce in 
One Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 Slale, \ 
3 Female characters. 

31. Hit Him, He has No Friends. ( 
A Farce in One Act. By E, Yates 
and N. IT. Harrington. 7 Slale, 3 
Female characters. 

3R- The Christening. A Farce in One 
Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Slale, 
«3 Female characters. 

3S. A Bace for a Widow. A Farce 
in One Act. By Thomas J. Wil- 
liams. 5 Slale. 4 Female characters. 

3 A Your Life's in Banger. A Farce ( 
in One Act. By .1. SI. Slorton. 3 
Slale, 3 Female characters. 

3?. True unto Beath. A Drama in 
Two Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. 
Slale, 2 Female characters 



eei^ 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

'Sylvia's Soldier,' "Once on a Time," "Down by the Sea," "Bread on the Waters," 

"The Last J_.ua':." "Stand by the Flag," "The Tempter," "A Drop Too Much," " We're 

All Teetotalers," "A Little -More Cider," "Thirty Minutes for Refreshments," 

" Wanted, a Male Cook," " A Sea of Troubles," " Freedom of the i'ress," " A 

Close Shave," "The Great Elixir," "The Man with the Demijohn," "New 

Brooms Sweep Clean,' " Humors of the Strike," "My Uncle the Captain," 

"The Greatest Plague in Life," "No Cure, No l'ay,""The Gree.au 

Bend," "The War of the Roses," " Lightheart's Pilgrimage," 

" The Sculptor's Triumph, too Lale tor the Train," " Snow- 

Bound." "The Peddler of Very Nice," "Bonbons," " Capu- 
letta," "An Original Idea," " Enlisted for the War," 
"Never say Die," "The Champion of her Sex," 
"The Visions of Freedom, I'lie Merry Christ- 
mas of the Old Woman who lived in a 
Shoe," " The Tournament of Idylcourt, 
"A Thorn among the Roses," 
"A Christmas Carol," 
"One Hundred 
Vears Ago," 
be, 



»f wash* 
BOSTON : 
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY, 

41-45 Franklin Street. 



n 1 ^ 



Copyright 

By George M. Baker, 

1876. 



Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
19 Spring Lane. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. 



CHARACTERS. 

Philip Ringold, " Crazy Phil," a Mountain Hermit. 

Alfred Thorpe, a City Nabob. 

Amos Gayloi:i>, a Country Gentleman. 

IIowaeo Gayi.oed, his SorC 

Titus Turtll, a Gourmand. 

Curtis Chipman, " Chips" in the Rough. 

Nat Naylor, Thorpe's Protege. 

Grace Ingalls, a Young Artist. 

Hester Thobne, Gay lord's Housekeeper. 

Susy Gaylord, Gaylord's Daughter. 

Luceetia Geeeish, " so romantic." 



COSTUMES. 



RnfGOLD. Age 40. Pull black board; thick, curly wig; slouch 
hat; long boots; light coat, buttoned at the waist; blue 
Blurt, with biack handkerchief knotted at the neck; collar 
of shirt rolled over coat. 

Alfeed Thorpe. Age 50. White, curly hair; white side- 
whiskers ; fashionable dress ; kids, and dress hat. 

99 



100 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos Gaylord. Age CO. White wig; smooth face; nankeen 

vest and pants ; blue coat with brass buttons ; white tie. 
Howard Gavlord. Age 24. First Dress : Dark cutaway coat ; 

neat red shirt, with black neckerchief loosely -tied; dark 

pants, with leather leggings ; wide-awake hat. — Second 

Dress : Neat and tasty suit. 
Turtle. Age 40. Made up "fat"; fashionable fancy suit; 

red, curly hair; side-whiskers, and plump, red face. 
Citrtis. Age 20. Rough suit; pants, coat, and vest; light hat; 

light hair. 
Nat. Age 20. First Dress : A light suit ; green necktie ; green 

gloves ; straw hat, with a green ribbon. — Second Dress : 

Fashionable evening dress; white tie; dress coat; hair 

light, long, parted in the middle. 
Grace. Age 18. First Dress : Pretty-figured muslin, or blue 

or brown cambric, fashionably cut. — Second Dress : White 

muslin. 
Hester Thorne. Age 40. Brown or gray dress, with collar 

and cuffs ; fine, white wig. Face made up young and rosy. 
Sust. Age 17. First Dress : Figured muslin, witli white apron; 

long ear-rings. Second Dress : Neat evening-dress. 
Lucretia. Age 30. First Dress : Travelling-dress, as showy 

as possible ; face made up wrinkled ; very red cheeks ; a 

profusion of red curls, and a black patch on left cheek. 

Second Dress : Light fabric, with ribbons and bows of 

scarlet. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

r., right; c, centre; l., left; l. c, left centre; r. c, right 
centre; l. 1 e., left first entrance; r. 1 e., right first entrance; 
flat, scene at back of stage; r. u.e., right upper entrance. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS 



Act I. — Scene: Room in Gaylord's house. Inflate, 
open doorway, backed by lattice-work, with vine run- 
ning up it. L. of door, a long window, showing a rail- 
ing backing it, and beyond that, shrubbery ; the pas- 
sage-way off is through door, then past window, and 
offz,. Long curtains at window ; a vase of flowers 
standing on the stage at back of open door ; flat plain 
from door to R. with a, picture hanging on it; long 
windoxo r. next flat, with long curtain; lounge at 
window u., back to flat ; small table at window l. a, 
with flowers and books upon it; chair front of it. 
Door l. half-way up stage ; arm-chair l. Entrance 
r. Easel, toith picture on it, back to audience, near 
window r. Grace seated painting. Howard stand- 
ing c. leaning on a gun, hat in hand, icatching her. 

Grace. And you really like my picture, Mr. Gay- 
lorcl ? 

Howard. Like it, Miss Grace ? It's a bit of Nature 
filched from our grand old mountain so cleverly, that I 
wonder it does not give one of its thunder-growls in 
protest of the robbery. 

Grace. It will be growled at by those monsters the 
art-critics. They will not spare a single tree, or a 

101 



102 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

stone, in my Mountain-Picture. Ah, if they were only 
as kindly-disposed as you are, I should not fear. 

Howard. Don't place me among them, Miss Grace. 
Pm but a rough-handed farmer, who would be laughed 
at in such company. 

Grace. Yet you are an artist. 

Howard. At ploughing — yes. 

Grace. You may laugh ; but you are a true artist. 
Yon wooded valley, stretching to the distant river; 
yon towering mountain, lifting its head above the 
clouds, thrill me with delight, as a holiday sight glad- 
dens the heart of the child. But to you they are daily 
life. As the order, peace, and love of a household fill 
the heart of the child with all good impulses, so the 
clear mountain air you breathe, the majesty of Nature 
in its grand sublimity, train the eye to beauty, the soul 
to harmony, the heart to inspiration, — all unconscious 
influences which make you a critic whose praise is 
worth the winning. 

Howard. You are enthusiastic. 

Grace. Thank you. I am winning favor; for with- 
out enthusiasm how could we poor artists live? 

Howard. Then you like our rough life here, far 
above the busy, bustling world ? 

Grace. Like it? To be free from the thraldom of 
city life, its crowded, bustling streets, its mockery of 
comfort, its greed and avarice, crime and folly, is to 
me as welcome, as joyous, as must be the sunlight to 
the prisoner for years confined in gloomy dungeons. 

Howard. And you could forsake all that — could be 
happy here ? 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 103 

Grace. Forever. 

Howard. O Grace, — Miss Ingalls, — you know not 
what pleasure that confession gives me. If I might 
hope — 

(Enter Susy, door l., with a pan of apples and a 
knife.) 

Susy. O, I beg your pardon. Do I intrude ? 

Grace. No, indeed, Susy. I was just giving a few 
finishing touches to my picture, and Howard — Mr. 
Gaylord — was admiring the color of my sky. 

Howard. Yes, Susy, that's all. 

Susy. O ! (Aside) Admiring the color ! They've 
both got an extra quantity of red in their faces. (Sits 
in arm-chair.) The reflection of the picture, I sup- 
pose. (Pares apples.) 

Grace. Are those hanging-clouds light enough? 

Howard. Exactly the tints displayed at sunset. 
But to my mind, that quaint scene above the clouds is 
the beauty of the picture. Ringold's Nest, we call it 
— Crazy Phil's rocky hut. 

Grace. The Hermit of the Mountain. I long to 
catch a glimpse of this mysterious hero of the Peak. 

Howard. I am expecting him here every moment; 
but you must look at him outside, for he never enters 
a house. I go gunning with him to-day. 

Grace. Gunning with a crazy man ? 

Howard. Phil is not crazy. His eccentricities have 
gained him that title here. Ten years ago he passed 
through here to the Peak, and took possession of the 
rude hut upon its summit. A wan, ragged, and hag- 
gard man. Occasionally he comes into our streets, but 



104 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

shuns our abodes. His mountain life has made a new 
man of him; improved his health and spirits; and I 
want no better companion on a tramp, no wiser friend 
in council, than Phil Ringold. 

Grace. And his past history? 

Howard. Is a sealed book. Occasionally, in fits of 
abstraction, he mutters hoarsely of a faithless wife, a 
lost child, a false friend ; but when I question him, he 
is silent. 

Grace. Brave fellow ! Foiled in his battle with the 
world, he turns his back upon it, and in Nature's sol- 
itudes fashions a new life and battles with himself. 

Howard. One would imagine, from your poor 
opinion of the world you have left, that even you — 
young, talented, and — well, it is the truth — beautiful, 
had met with disappointment. 

Grace. No ; I have nothing to complain of, except 
the fact that I am nobody is a disappointment. 

Howard. Nobody! You — you have genius. 

Grace. Perhaps. That remains to be seen. I know 
I have courage to persevere, will to conquer; but, 
should I triumph, none to rejoice at my success. 

Howard. I do not understand you. 

Grace. Because you do not know me. I do not 
know myself. I am a waif, the property of nobody 
who will claim me. Originally, one of those mysteri- 
ous little mortals that are dropped by the way, as we 
sometimes dispose of a troublesome kitten. 

Howard. And your parents ? 

Grace. I have not the honor of their acquaintance ; 
nothing but the recollection of a loving face bending 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 105 

over me; a silken beard I loved to stroke, long, long 
years ngo ; and then a change to rough hands, but 
kind hearts ; and then all is blotted, till my life began 
with Mr. Thorpe. 

Howard. Surely that was a pleasant change. 

Grace. He says he was a friend of my parents ; 
that both are dead — and nothing more. Where they 
lived, or where they lie, in vain I ask. He has ever 
been a kind friend to me ; allowed me to choose my 
artist life ; spared no expense ; encouraged me in every 
way; and yet, and yet — I hate him! 

Howard. Hate him? 

Grace. What right has he to stand between me 
and those who gave me life ? 

Howard. But if they are dead ? 

Grace (rising). Their memories should live in the 
heart of their child ; not be stolen from her; hidden 
away in the grave with them, as though they were 
guilty things, too base to be remembered. No, no; 
there is some mystery here. Would I could solve it 
(raises hand towards window r. and looks off). O, 
solitary dweller on the Mountain Peak, I can clasp 
hands with thee. Thou standest alone in Nature's 
loneliest haunts; amid the crowded ways of life, like 
thee, I am alone — alone. (With an effort.) Pardon 
me ; this is one of my changeful moods. I shall soon 
be better. \_Exit r. 1 E. 

Howard. A strange mood. So young; so beautiful. 
She fascinates me ! Am I wise to linger in her pres- 
ence ? To listen to her beguiling voice ? To look into 
her eyes? • She, a genius, and an angel 1 Dare I utter 
the words that spring to my lips — 



106 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Ahem ! 

Howard. Susy, I had forgotten you. "What are you 
doing, puss ? 

Susy. O, I've been keeping Miss Grace and you 
company. 

Howard. In what way ? 

Susy. Paring! O, Howard Gaylord, you've just 
come, and been and gone and done it. 

Howard. What, puss ? 

Susy. Fallen in love with Miss Grace Ingalls. 

Howard. Nonsense, puss. 

Susy. Well, I think there is a great deal of non- 
sense about it. But ain't it nice to feel your heart 
going pitity-pat, pitity-pat, every time she looks at you, 
and to feel that delicious lump in your throat, like as 
though you were going to strangle with delight and 
was afraid you shouldn't! 

Howard. Well, you certainly understand the symp- 
toms, Susy. 

Susy. Indeed I do. I haven't lived seventeen 
years for nothing. But all that's nothing to what will 
come over you the first time you clasp her taper fin- 
gers. You'll feel just as though you were being lifted 
upon a bridge of rainbows. You'll be dizzy at first, 
but it soon wears olf. 

Hoicard. Ha, ha! you're well posted, puss. Was 
Curtis Chipman your instructor? 

Susy. Chips? Not much; he hasn't the courage 
to look me in the eye. 

Howard. And of course cannot feel the " pitity-pat " 
sensation. Curt is a good fellow, Susy ; mind you don't 
frighten him. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 107 

Susy. I frighten him! He don't need any help, he 
frightens himself 

Howard. And you think I love Miss Grace ? 

Susy. You prove it, in being so anxious to return 
to the subject. 

Hoteard. What if I do, Susy. Do you think she 
would condescend to look with favor upon such a rough 
specimen as I ? 

Susy. Condescend ? My goodness ! Condescend 
to you, my brother ? The idea ! Why, Howard Gay- 
lord, I'm ashamed of you! You're none too good tot 
the best woman that ever trod the earth. 

Howard. Ha, ha, ha ! Right, Susy : I'm none u too 
good." 

Susy. Now laugh because I made a slip. You know 
what I mean ; and if you don't boldly woo and win 
Grace Ingalls, I'll disinherit you. 

Howard. Hush ! she 's here. 

Susy. I thought she couldn't keep away from you 
long. 

(Enter Grace, u.) 

Grace. There, the storm is over (goes to her easel). 

Susy (aside). Now's the time for rainbows! Why 
don't he squeeze her hand? 

Hoteard. Shall I disturb you if I look at your work? 

Grace. O, no; I'm quite myself again. 

Susy (aside). Look at her work, indeed ! He can't 
keep his eyes off of her. ( Whistle outside, l. Susy 
gradually falls asleep.) 

Hoicard. Ah, that's Phil Ringold. I must be off. 

Grace. O, do bring him in. 



108 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Howard. I cannot ; it would be useless to make 
the attempt. 

Grace {rising). Tlien I'll have one good look at 
him {rises and goes up into doorway ; looks off l.). 
Yes, what a fine figure. Mr. Gaylord, your friend is 
splendid. Ah, he sees me (bows and smiles). He 
starts. He comes this way like a madman (runs down 
to easel ; turns and stands with hand on easel, bending 
forward, looking at door. Howard, l.) 

Phil (outside, l.). Hester ! Hester ! (Passes window 
and appears in doorway, gun thrown across his arm / 
stops and glares at Grace.) Hester! No, no; 'lis 
her face; but she — so like ! so like ! Where got you 
that face? It belonged to one I knew long years ago. 
So beautiful — but false. As young and fair, but heart- 
less and cruel. She made my home a ruin and my life 
a curse. 

Howard. Phil, old fellow, be calm. This is our 
guest, Miss Grace Ingalls — an artist. Look at her work 
there on the easel. Do you recognize it ? (Grace 
steps back towards window, r. Phil comes forward, 
his eyes fastened upon her face until lie nears the 
easel. He sighs ; lets his eyes rove round until they 
reach the picture / starts.) 

Phil (with a smile). Ah, the old nest. See, see, 
Howard! It's wondrous like — wondrous like! (Turns 
to Grace icith a boio.) I congratulate you, young lady, 
on your success. It is a charming picture. 

Grace. Thank you. 

Phil (starts). O, that voice ! — it brings back the 
old days — the mother with the child in her lap ; and 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 109 

the music of her lullaby thrills me again and again. 
No, no ; let me shut it out — shut it out; it softens 
my heart, — and that should be steel, adamant, to bar 
out forever the traitoress, the false one. Come, How- 
ard, the day is speeding, and we've a long tramp. Come, 
come {goes up). 

Grace. Stay one moment. (Phil turns.) We meet 
as strangers to-day; but, believe me, I sympathize with 
your sorrows and your wi'ongs. Can we not be friends? 
( Offers her hand.) 

Phil {takes it and looks in her face). My sorrows 
and my wrongs, child, they are forgotten. I trod 
the haunts of men, mingled with the bustling and the 
busy; loved, lost ; and then, there {pointing off through 
window, B.) on yonder mountain peak, perched myself 
above the clouds, that, floating at my feet, shut out all 
tokens of the sin and wrong below. Ah, little one, 
pretty one, this is a world of trouble. We joy and 
we sorrow, gain and lose; but there — there on His 
eternal mountains that pierce the sky, all is forgotten, 
for we are alone, — with Nature here, and Heaven 
there. 

Grace. May Heaven recompense you for all you 
have suffered. 

Phil. It will ; it does. My wrongs were like those 
of other men. I loved, and was deceived. I married, 
and found my wife's smiles were bestowed upon an- 
other. I was a fool to trust a woman, and so pay pen-' 
ance by forgetting the whole world. 

Howard. Except — 

Phil {giving Howard his hand). Except Howard, 



110 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

for we are friends, and lie is of my own mind. He'll 
never trust a woman. (Howard withdraws his hand, 
looks at Grace, and turns away. Grace blushes and 
looks down.) Ho, ho! I've snid too much. Never 
mind ; it's only Crazy Phil. Come, Howard, we must 
be off, for game's afoot, and Crazy Phil is a wondrous 
good shot. Ha, ha, ha ! {At door, turns and bows to 
Grace.) Good-bye. So like — so like — it almost 
drives me mad. [Exit c. off l. 

Howard. You see, Miss Grace, Phil is an odd char- 
acter. 

Grace. Very. 

Howard. You mustn't mind all he says ; for in- 
stance, that remark about me that I would never trust 
a woman ; for there is one woman I could trust with 
my life, my soul. 

Grace. I hope there are many such. 

Howard. Yes — O, yes. But this one — 

Grace. Your friend is waiting, I see. 

Howard. I'm off. {Aside) She's not for me — not 
for me. I was a fool to think it. [Bows, and exit c. 

Grace. I'm on dangerous ground here. This rough 
but honest-hearted fellow is stirring my heart strangely. 
Is fate or fortune about to send some one to prove 
false my statement that there's no one to rejoice at my 
success? If so, I hope he'll be the man. [Exits,. 1 e. 

{Enter Chips from l. He comes on with his hat twirl- 
ing in his hand; comes to door slowly and stands 
looking down bashfully, rubbing against door-post.) 

Chips. I was just going by. {Pause). I said I was 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Ill 

just going by {looks up). Hallo! Nobody hero? 
That's queer, I vum ! (Comes down.) I've made up 
my mind that Susy Gaylord is the prettiest, smartest, 
and likeliest gal in these parts, and I've just got spunk 
enough to tell her so. (Sees Susy.) Jewhittiker! there 
she is ! (Hacks across stage to n., looking down and 
twirling his hat.) How d'e do? I was just going by. 
(Pause, looks up.) Why, she's asleep ! ( Comes to c. and 
looks at her.) Now, ain't she a beauty ! just clear pink 
and white. Look at them lips! there's honey for the 
taking ! Curtis, now's your chance (roijies his mouth 
with coat-sleeve) . She's asleep, and nobody's looking 
(creeps towards her). 

(Enter Nat Naylor, l.; looks through witidow.) 
Fm trembling all over; but, darn it, here goes! (Stoops 
to kiss her. Nat comes to door.) 

Nat. Brace up ! (Chips runs across stage to b. 
Susy wakes. Nat comes down.) Here 's robbery ! 
Grand larceny ! 

Bumpkin, forbear, touch not those tempting lips, 
Base is the man who thus felonious sips. 

Impromptu. Ahem! (To Susy) Excuse me, I am the 
avant courier of Mr. Alfred Thorpe, Mr. Titus Turtle, 
" and last but not least is our dear love," Miss Lucretia 
Gerrish, — three mountain travellers who are on their 
way to spend a {"aw days in this delightful mansion of 
Mr. Amos Gaylord. 

A stately pile, the country's pride and boast, 
Amid the mountain, with A Gaylord host. 

Impromptu. Ahem! (Struts up stage.) 



112 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Well, I never! 

Chips. Wall, he 's gone crazy, and got it bad. 

Susy. Chips, what are you doing here? 

Nat (comes down). Chips, is it? O, Chips, I blush 
for you. Young lady, look upon me as your preserver. 
I caught this modest rustic in the very act of snatch- 
ing a kiss from those ruby lips, — 

Where Cupid sits enthroned with arching how, 
Before the ivoried walls that gleam below. 

Impromptu. Ahem! 

Susy. Chips, is it possible ? Did you dare ? 

Chips. Well, you see, Susy, I was going by, and — 
and — I thought I'd just drop in to tell you that — 
that — mother's making pickles to-day. 

Nat. O, Chips! Chips! 

While making pickles, mother dear, 
I find a sweeter pickle here. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Chips. Look here, Mr. What's-your-name, you're a 
darned sight too free with your Mother Goose Melo- 
dies. Ef you get my dander up, you'll think a horse 
kicked you, — now I tell you. 

Susy. Chips, don't be rude. 

Chips. Well, I ain't a-goin' to be sassed by a feller 
that can't talk English. 

Nat. Chips, you want polish. 

Chips. Well, p'raps you 'd like to polish me. Ef 
you would, I'm your man. Come down behind the 
barn — 

Susy. Chips, I'm ashamed of you ! 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 113 

Nat. So am I, Chips. 

The blush of shame is mounting to my cheek, 
It glows — 

It glows — There, I've lost it! You must know, I'm 
a protege of Mr. Thorpe's, destined to become a poet. 
Yes, he's fond of helping aspiring genius up the dizzy- 
heights — and I'm to be a poet. So, as practice makes 
perfect, I indulge in flights of fancy on all occasions. 
So if you happen to hear from my lips eccentric bits, 
don't mind them. It's nothing — mere practice. 

Susy. O, you're a poet! Well, I declare! 

Nat. Yes — NatNaylor. Sometimes called Natty, 
because my verses are neat and natty. See ? 

Susy. I am glad to welcome you to my father's 
house. 

Nat. Then I am in the presence of Miss Susy Gay- 
lord. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Allow 
me — (lifts her hand to his lips). 

Here on this band I pay the homage due 
To lovely woman — 

{About to kiss again ) 

Susy {withdrawing her hand). Thank you ; that 
will do. 

Nat. Impromptu. Ahem ! I must return to my 
friends. You may expect us in half an hour. Adieu 
(goes to door and turns). We part to meet again. — 
Sweet one, farewell. Chips, au revoir. \_Exit c. 

Chips. Get out, you tarnal swell ! Darn his pic- 
ture, I'll have one shot at him. (Runsup to Susy, takes 
three or four apples, and runs up to c.) 
8 



114 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Chips, what are you doing with my apples ? 

Chips {throwing apples off l. swiftly). There, im- 
promptu ! Darn you ! I wish they were Centennial 
eggs ! ( Comes down c.) 
Susy. Curtis Chipman ! 

Chips. That's my name, and I ain't ashamed of it. 

Susy. I'm ashamed of you ! Such treatment of a 
gentleman and a poet ! 

Chips. O, bother! What' s a poet, anyhow ? He 
can't tell a Shanghai from a Bantam, a pitchfork from 
a rake. What right has he to kiss your hand ? You 
never saw me trying it? 

Susy. No ; but he saw you attempting something 
worse, Chips. 

Chips. Don't care. I was just going by — 

Susy. Pshaw ! you 're always going by. Why 
don't you come straight to the house, and not make an 
excuse, when you know you are dying to see me. O, 
Chips, you're a good fellow, but you want a little pol- 
ish. Look at Mr. Naylor. 

Chips. Hang Mr. Naylor ! I hate him. 

Susy. And I like him. He's so gentle, so well- 
bred ; such a flow of language. I'm sure we shall be- 
come good friends. 

Chips {throws his hat on stage). Susy Gay lord, 
I'm mad; and I'm going to tell you just what I think 
of you. 

Snsy. That's right, Chips ; frankness is a virtue. 

Chips. You're a — a — confound it, Susy, you're 
an angel ; and I love you better than father or mother, 
sister or brother — 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 115 

Susy. Uncles ami aunts, first and second ccusins. 
Put in all the relatives, Chips. 

Chips: I know I ain't handsome. 

Susy. So do I, Chips. 

Chips. I haven't what you call "polish." 

Susy. Not a bit, Chips. 

Chips. But I've got a heart crammed full of love 

for you. Will you marry me ? 

Susy. I cannot, Chips ; because — because — 

Chips. Because what? 

Susy. I'm an angel ; and angels don't many. 

Chips. Don't torture me, Susy. 

Susy. No, Chips — I should if I married you. So 
I'll be merciful and spare you. 

An angel of mercy, hovering nigh, 

To watch your footsteps when you're going by. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Chips. Hang it ! don't you go to making melodies 
and jingles — Naylor's lingo. All fools make rhymes; 
they do, by jingo! * 

Susy. Impromptu. Ahem ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Chips. You won't have me ? 

Susy. Haven't got time. Strangers are coming 
here, you know, and I must be bustling. All of them 
coming, including that delightful Mr. Naylor. 

Chips. Darn him! You'll be sorry for this, Susy 
Gaylord. As for that poet fellow, if I don't smash his 
rhyming-machine, then my name 's not Curtis Chipman 
(goes offc). 

Susy. Good-bye, Chips; call again when you're 



116 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

going by. Ha, ha, ha ! I've found a new way to make 
a bashful lover speak. Get him mad, and then he dis- 
closes his passion. Ha, ha, ha! {Goes up and puts pan 
of apples on table.) 

{Enter Amos Gayloed, c.) 

Amos. Susy, has Mrs. Thorne returned ? 

Susy. No, father; she spent the night at Mrs. 
Green's, with her sick boy. 

Amos. Bless her ! that woman's a sister of charity, 
Susy ; a friend in trouble ; the poor pray for her, and 
the sick forget their pain when she is near. 

/Susy. Ah, father, you've a tender regard for our 
new housekeeper. 

Amos. To be sure I have, Susy. Isn't she a treas- 
ure here ? How carefully she looks after my comfort ; 
so quiet, yet so active at her household duties ; so un- 
obtrusive ; so motherly to you. Ah, it was a happy 
day when she came to our home ! 

Susy. Father, you surprise me ! 

Amos. I have a still greater surprise in store for 
you, Susy. I am going to ask Mrs. Thorne to marry 
me. 

Susy. Marry you ! 

Amos. Yes ; she has become so necessary here that 
I fear to lose her. She has evidently seen trouble, 
poverty. Why should not I try to make her forget all 
she has suffered by making her the honored head of 
this my home ? 

Susy. Father, no one would more gladly welcome 
her to that position than I. I truly, sincerely hope 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 117 

you may be successful ; but I fear you will be disap- 
pointed. 

Amos. Don't dash my hopes, Susy ! I'm not a very 
old man. I have wealth. 

Susy. Any woman might be proud of your pro- 
posal, father ; but she has that in her face which tells 
me she has suffered deeply. 

Hester {outside a). I will have it attended to at 
once. 

Amos. Hush ! she is here. 

{Enter Hester Thorne from l., passing window 
to c. door. She has a light shawl on her shoidders y 
a rigolette on her head.) 

Hester. Good morning, Mr. Gaylord. Susy, have 
you missed me ? 

Susy. We always miss you, Mrs. Thorne. ( Takes her 
shawl and rigolette.) How is the boy ? 

Hester. Poor little fellow ! — at rest ; he died this 
morning. Brave to the last, he suffered uncomplain- 
ingly, and passed away with a smile upon his lips. 

Amos. You have had a weary night. You must 
take rest. {Exit Susy, door l.) 

Hester. No ; my brisk walk this morning has re- 
freshed me. 

Amos. I do not like to have you waste your 
strength in such constant watching. 

Hester. I think one gains strength in seeking to 
alleviate distress. 

Amos. Yes ; but — 

Hester. You think it unfits me for my duties as 
your housekeeper. 



118 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos. Mrs. Thorne ! 

I/ester. Pardon me ; that was an unkind speech to 
so generous a man as you. 

Amos. I think only of your own health, Mrs. Thorne. 
I am anxious on your account solely. For a year you 
have been my housekeeper, and I need not tell you 
how highly you are respected here. 

Hester. I am glad to know you like me. 

Amos. So well, Mis. Thorne, that I am anxious to 
secure you for life. 

Hester {surprised). Mr. Gaylord ! 

Amos. Hester Thorne, I am too old a man to prate 
of love with a young man's passionate warmth. I have 
the most exalted opinion of your disposition, your 
talents, and your honor. Will you become my wile ? 

Hester. Mr. Gaylord, you know not what you ask. 
Impossible ! 

Amos. Impossible ! Mrs. Thorne, I am a man of 
few words ; but I am honest, earnest in my offer. Give 
your consent, and you are mistress here. 

Hester. Stop — stop — give me time — 

Amos. To consider my proposal? 

Hester. No, no ; not that. It must not, cannot be. 
O, you have taken me by surprise. I never dreamed 
of this. Your offer is generous, noble. You have 
been a kind, dear friend to me, and I respect you ; but 
marriage ! — No, no — there is a bar. 

Amos. You are a widow ? 

Hester. Widow or wife, Heaven alone can answer. 
Mr. Gaylord, there must be no secrets between us now. 
Listen to me ; listen to a story never breathed to mor- 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 119 

tal ears before. Years ago, I, a young girl, was wooed 
by two suitors, both handsome and accomplished. 
One became my partner, and, for a year, happiness 
was my lot. Then a child was born to me, and still 
my happiness continued ; my husband loved me, and 
my home was heaven itself. When our little girl was 
three years old, the other suitor returned from a foreign 
land. My husband and he were intimate; he came to 
our house, and in an evil hour professed his love for 
me. I spurned him ; but still he came. Then I com- 
mitted the first error cf my married life. I kept his 
secret from my husband, but still avoided him Avith 
loathing and abhorrence. He — villain that he was — 
filled his friend's ears with slanderous reports. My 
husband grew cold, and still my lips were closed. One 
night — shall I ever forget it? — I awoke to find my- 
self alone. My husband had fled with our child, leav- 
ing behind, in letters that burned into my brain, his 
bitter taunts for my unfaithfulness and guilt. O, heav- 
ens, I, innocent and loving, to be so accused ! From 
that day I have never seen them. 

Amos. But could you find no clue? 

Hester. None ; day followed day, and still I waited. 
A year passed, and I read in a paper, marked for my 
inspection, the death of my child in a distant city. 

Amos. Was no provision made for your support? 

Hester. Ample; but I was too proud to take his 
wealth while he believed me guilty. With my own 
hands I toiled, patiently trusting to time to work out 
the right. Years have followed years, and still I wait. 
O Heaven, be merciful ; shed some light upon my dark 



120 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

path, ere I go down into the grave. Let him believe 
me innocent, and death will be a welcome release. 

Anio . This is a sad story, Mrs. Thorn e. I thank 
you for the telling. You have a friend in me, trust 
me — a home here among us. You have been deeply 
wronged, and I'll search the world over, but your in- 
nocence shall be made clear. 

Hester. No, no ; let it rest. "Were my child living, 
for her sake I would be vindicated ; but I am alone, 
and, confident in my own integrity, can wait the right- 
eous verdict in the great hereafter. [Exit door L. 

Amos. She's a noble woman ; there's goodness and 
honesty in her friee. 'Tis hard to lose her; but I'll 
have the truth, wherever it rests. 

(Enter Alfrkd Thorpe, c.) 

Thorpe. Ah, my old friend, your doors are open, 
and, of course, the latch-string is out. 

Amos (shaking hands). Thorpe, welcome, welcome ; 
this is a surprise. 

Thorpe. Indeed ! Then my poetical protege, Nat 
Naylor, has surely not performed his duty. I sent him 
here to announce my coming. 

Amos. No matter; it needed no ceremony ; we are 
always ready to receive you. 

Thorpe. And my friends, I trust. But where's my 
Grace, and how is she ? Enraptured with your de- 
lightful scenery, I'll be bound. 

Amos. Yes ; enjoying herself hugely. She's a genius, 
Thorpe. Where did you find such a treasure ? 

Thorpe. Ah, that's a secret. But, between you and 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 121 

me, she's the daughter of a couple whose married life 
was not as happy as it should have beeu. The wife 
went astray, and the husband went roaming, nobody 
knows where. 

Amos. And Grace — does she know of this? 

Thorpe. No ; she believes them both dead. 

Amos. Ah, and their names? 

Thorpe. O come, come, old friend, you are getting 
excited. I've told you quite enough. The rest is my 
secret. The intrigues of the world in which I live can 
scarcely interest you in your simple, honest, country life. 

Amos. And you are content to practise this decep- 
tion upon a young girl ? 

Thorpe. Who would be made unhappy by the 
knowledge I withhold ? Yes, believe me, old friend, in 
all I do, I am anxious to secure her happiness; for she 
has become very dear to me — so dear that I am here 
for the sole purpose of asking her to become my wife. 

Amos. Ah, this is a part of your secret ? 

Thorpe. Yes. I've told you I am a man of the 
world. I never allow anything to thwart me in my 
inclinations and desires. She is dependent upon me. 
I have made her young life pleasant and happy. Every 
wish has been gratified, every desire fulfilled. She 
looks upon me as her benefactor ; and when I ask her 
hand, I have no fear of a refusal. 

Amos. But there's such a difference in your ages. 
She may respect you as her benefactor, but when you 
ask her love, she may rebel. 

Thorpe. Possibly; but when she hears the story of 
her parents — when she knows that by making it pub- 



122 ABOVE TITE CLOUDS. 

lie she might feel the stigma of their shame, she'll be 
glad to buy my silence. 

Amos. And you could do this ? 

Thorpe. Certainly, if by no other means I could 
gain her consent. 

Amps. Why, this is cowardly, unmanly. Thorpe, 
I would not believe you could be guilty of so ba^e a 
deed. 

Thorpe. Tut, tut ; this is the way of the world — 
my world. 

Amos. Then your world is a province of the infer- 
nal kingdom ! 

Thorpe. Possibly. And yours, of the better world ; 
for here you are much nearer to the heavens. Come, 
come, old friend, keep my secret and lead me to my 
protege. 

Amos. She 's here. ( Goes up stage.) 

{Enter Grace, b.) 

Thorpe. Ah, Grace! Grace! 

Grace {running to him and taking his hand). Wel- 
come, a thousand times welcome, Mr. Thorpe ! 

Thorpe. What a change ! The mountain air has 
put a rich color in your face ; you are wondrous beau- 
tiful, child. So you are glad to meet me again ? 

Grace. Indeed — indeed I am. If the mountain 
air has freshened my complexion, my absence from you 
has freshened the recollection of how much I owe 
to you, — how grateful I should be for all your care 
of me. 

Turtle (outside a). How soon will dinner be ready ? 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 123 

Thorpe. Ah, there's Turtle ; with characteristic in- 
stinct he is sniffing the country air to catch a whiff 
from the kitchen fire. ( Goes up c.) This way, Turtle. 
(Amos comes to k. and sjyeaks with Grace.) 

Turtle (outside c). It's very well to say this way ; 
but, considering what I weigh, you'd better let me have 
my way in getting up. (Passes wi/idoic with Lucre- 
tia. on his arm., and enters c.) Thorpe, this is a 
wretched country ; it's all up stairs. 

Thorpe. Don't grumble, old fellow. Mr. Gaylord, 
my friend Titus Turtle. 

Amos. Glad to see you (shakes hands). 

Turtle. Thank you. Fine place you have, Mr. Gay- 
lord. Ah, fir.y little friend Grace! (Passes Amos, and 
takes her hand.) And how are you ? Hearty, eh ? 

Grace. Quite well, thank you, and delighted to 
meet you again. 

Thorpe. ( To Amos, presenting Miss Gerkish.) My 
friend, Miss Gerrish. 

Amos. Happy to meet you, and hope to make your 
stay pleasant in our homely way. 

Lucretia. Thank you. 'Tis really a delightful place ; 
delightful trees; delightful hills; delightful odors; and 
all — so romantic. 

Turtle. Right; Miss Lucretia (snuff's) ; delightful 
odor (snuffs). (Aside) Roast mutton. 

Lucretia (running to toindow, R.). O, Mr. Turtle, 
do come here, quick ; such an exquisite prospect! 

Turtle (goes to table). Thank you; here's a finer 
prospect to my taste (takes apple and eats). 

Lucretia. How gracefully those boughs bend to- 
wards the ground. 



124 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Turtle. They can't help it ; they're loaded down 
with apples. 

Lucretia. And do see those lambs frolicking in the 
sunshine. Sportive, innocent creatures. I do love 
lambs — so romantic. 

Turtle {helping himself to another apple). So do I 
— with mint-sauce. 

Lucretia. And do see that poor dumb animal fast- 
ened there in the grass, like a martyr at the stake. 

Turtle. Ah, what luscious steaks he '11 make when 
he 's cut up ! Mr. Gaylord, what is the dinner hour in 
this mountainous country ? 

Amos. Twelve o'clock, Mr. Turtle. 

Turtle {looking at watch). O ! — two hours, thirty- 
five minutes and ten seconds (sinks into arm-chair, i,.) . 
I shall starve before that time ! 

Amos. Suppose Ave furnish you a lunch ? 

Turtle. Capital idea, Mr. Gaylord ; I've not eaten 
anything since six o'clock ! 

Thorpe. Titus ! 

Lucretia. Mr. Turtle ! 

Turtle. "Well, nothing worth mentioning. 

Thorpe. The lunch-basket was very heavy when we 
started. It is empty now ; and neither Miss Gerrish 
nor I have helped unload it. If I recollect right, there 
were a pair of chickens. 

Turtle. Only six pounds ! What's that to a hungry 
man ? 

Lucretia. Three dozen sandwiches. 

Turtle. Mere wafers ! 

Thorpe. Two dozen eggs. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 125 

Turtle. So very small ! 

Thorpe. A box of sardines ; two dozen crackers; 
and turnovers enough to stock a country muster. O, 
Turtle, you cannot be hungry after such a feast. 

Turtle. Feast? Call that a feast ? Thorpe, I blush 
for you ! You're getting niggardly ! I shall have to 
be caterer for the balance of our trip. 

Thorpe. Then I'll provide a baggage-wagon. 

Lucretia. O, Mr. Turtle — dear Mr. Turtle, do make 
me happy by leading me to those flower-beds that 
bloom outside the window ? 

Thorpe. Yes, Turtle ; and Grace and I will bear 
you company. 

Turtle. That's right, Thorpe. You take them both, 
and I'll join you after I've had my lunch. 

Grace. I'll show the way. Come. [Exit E. 1 E. 
(Lucketia takes Thorpe's arm.) 

Thorpe {aside). Confound that glutton, he's spoiled 
a fine tete-a-tete with Grace. {Aloud) Turtle, remem- 
ber where you are, and don't make a hog of yourself. 
[Exeunt Thorpe and Lucretia, r. 1 e. 

Turtle. Now that's unkind of Thorpe. Is there 
anything about me, Mr. Gaylord, that bears the least 
resemblance to a hog? Hogs don't go upon two legs. 
Hogs have no delicate appreciation of the delights of 
eating. Hog indeed ! 

Amos. Never mind, Mr. Turtle ; it's one of Thorpe's 
pleasantries. 

Turtle. But I don't like it; it's a rude attack upon 
the fundamental principles of my being. Nature en- 
dowed me with uncommonly fine digestive faculties 



126 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

and gastronomic talents. I didn't ask Nature to do it ; 
but having received what I did receive, it is my duty 
to use my talents — isn't it? 

Amos. Undoubtedly, Mr. Turtle. 

Turtle. Thorpe has no taste. He 's all head ; for- 
ever scheming. Smart, but unscrupulous. For proof — 
years ago we both enjoyed the hospitalities of a friend. 
Such dinners ! my mouth waters at the thought. I 
made love to our friend's table ; he to our friend's wife; 
consequence was — while I only broke bread, he broke 
up the family. Well, of the two, I'd rather be a hog 
than a serpent, for hogs are death on snakes. 

Amos (aside) Ah, this is news indeed ! 

Turtle. Then there's the girl Grace Ingalls. There's 
a queer story there. When he took her from old Jack 
Graham's house, at Greenland, she passed by another 
name than that. Hog indeed ! A hog would have to 
root long and well to unearth the secret you have kept 
so well, Alfred Thorpe 

Amos. Ah, the secret ! 

Turtle. Eli ? O, bah ! that's my nonsense, Mr. Gay- 
lord ; don't mind it. Come, let's to lunch. 

Amos (aside) Ah, he's crawled into his shell again 
— tins Turtle. But enough ; I have a clue. (Aloud) Be 
patient, Mr. Turtle, I will have it arranged at once. 

[Exit door l. 

Turtle. The old fellow looks hearty, and I've no 
doubt has a good larder. 

(Enter Nay lor, c.) 
Nat. Ah, Turtle, my boy, I've been looking for you. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 127 

Give me my turtle — crying everywhere, 

Until the echoes sent mock-turtle through the air. 

Impromptu. Ahem! 

Turtle. Now don't do that, Nat ; you'll spoil my 
appetite. Those spasms of wit must be an awful strain 
on your weak brain. Rhyming is a sure sign of dys- 
pepsia; but when to that yon add punning, you are 
digging a pit that will undermine your constitution. 

Nat. What matters this frail structure untg me ? 
. I teed upon the heights of Poesy. 

Turtle. Must be high old feeding, —if you're a 
specimen, Nat. 

Nat. I hear afar the sound of rippling rills; 
I scent the verdure of a thousand hills. 

Turtle. No, you don't. {Snuffs.) That's mntton 
roasting. {Sjtuf's.) Glorious — isn't it ? O, will din- 
ner-time never come ? 

{Enter Susy, door l.) 

Susy. Lunch is on the fable, sir. 

Turtle. Ah, that's glorious news ! Come, Nat, 
join me with a knife and fork. I'll show you poetry — 
the poetry of motion from the hand to the mouth — 
flornething you can feel ; something you can taste. 
Come on. \Exit l. 

Susy. Will you follow him, Mr. Naylor? 

Nat. While such an angel hovers in my way? 

Thank you ; at present, think I'd rather stay. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Susy. That's very pretty. Going to stay long? 



128 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Nat. Well, Miss Susy, I cannot say. It seems to 
me I have been here too long already. 

My fluttering heart in piteous accents cries, 
Naylor, begone ; for here sweet danger lies. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Susy. O, there's nothing here to hurt you ; a few 
snakes and woodchucks. Ain't afraid of woodchucks, 
are you ? 

Nat. • Were they as fierce as lions, I would rout, 
Yea, from your presence I would chuck them out. 
Impromptu. Al»em ! 

Susy. O what a man for rhyming ! Do you know, 
Mr. Naylor, I am something of a poet? 

Nat. You? Charming! I felt there was some hid- 
den beauty about you which attracted me. 

Susy. O yes ; I make verses — (aside) as ridiculous 
as yours. You'll find them all over the house. There's 
a sweet little legend of mine over the back door: — 
Stranger pilgrim, pause awhile; 

On this door-step, broad and flat, 
Let no stains of earth defile ; 
Wipe your boots upon the mat. 
(Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Nat. Splendid ! Beautiful ! The true poetic prin- 
ciple. 

Susy. Think so ? Well, here's another. Mine are 
domestic verses. 

Wanderer, at the dizzy brink 
Of this freshly-painted sink, 
Beware the thrifty housewife's grow(e)l; 
On its peg hang up the towel. 
(Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 129 

Nat. Exquisite! So appropriate ! Ah, Miss Susy, 
I toil over an humble rhyme in the hope that one of" 
these days I shall strike a mine of poetic metal that 
shall make the world ring with the music of my verse. 
Now, that's a pretty sentiment, if I could only put it 
into verse. 

Susy. Perhaps I could help you. 

Nat. O, if you only would, I should adore you. 

Susy. Would you ? Suppose we wander in the 
garden — there's so much there to inspire ? 

Nat. Witli pleasure. ( Offers his arm.) 

Susy (taking it.) You Avant to strike a mine? 

Nat. I aim to reach a rich poetic mine. 

Susy. As green and sappy as a towering pine. 
How's that? 

Nat. Very J)ad, Miss Susy. Pines have nothing in 
common with mines. 

Susy. Certainly they do. Ain't they both blasted ? 
Well, if you don't like that, try again. 

Nat. Grant me to find the true poetic mine, 

Susy. That laurels may my burning brow entwine. 

Nat. O, that's capital ! I 'd be the poorest scholar 
in thy school. 

. Susy. Stood on a bench, and plainly labelled — fool ! 
Ha, ha, ha! Impromptu. Ahem! (Huns off c.) Ha, 
ha, ha! 

Nat (following). Now Miss Susy ! how could you ? 

[Exit c. 
(Enter Grace, r. 1 e.) 

Grace. There's something in Mr. Thorpe's manner 
I do not like. Twice he has seized my hand with a 
9 



130 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

fervor that startled inc ; find continually his eyes are 
fixed upon my face with a look that terrifies ine {goes 
to easel). So I've left him to listen to Miss Gerrish's 
rhapsodies. Ha, ha, ha ! So romantic {works at her 
picture). 

{Enter Hestkk, door l.) 

Hester. Good morning, Grace {comes to easel). 

Grace {extending her hand). Good morning, dear 
friend. We have missed you sadly. 

Hester. Indeed ! 'Tis pleasant to be missed. And 
how comes on our famous picture? 

Grace. Judge for yourself. 

Hester {looking at picture). Ah, better and better. 
It improves with every touch of your brush {lays hand 
on her head). Ah, my dear, you will become famous! 

Grace. And that is something to be^desired. 

Hester. Yes ; when laurels can be worn modestly, 
as you will wear them {removes her hand). 

Grace. Don't take your hand away ; its caress sym- 
bolizes something to be desired more than laurels. 

Hester {replacing her hand). And that is — 

Grace. Affection. O, Mrs. Thome, a mother's 
touch could be no more gentle and soothing — and 
that I have not felt for years. 

Hester {kisses her). Poor child ! 

Grace. O, thank you, Mrs. Thorne ; you are a 
mother? 

Hester. Alas ! a childless mother. Once I clasped 
a tiny form, showered kisses on its infant lips, stroked 
with tenderness its golden locks, and was so happy. 
But we were parted; and the sweet memory of that 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 131 

happy union are all that's left me now. O, my little 
daughter ! my darling, darling child ! ( Weeps.) 

Grace. (Hises and pats her arm about her waist ; 
liads her dozen front.) O, would I could* take that 
daughter's place; not to drive her from your heart, but 
to share with her its love — the living and the dead! 

Hester. O, Grace, there 's a tone in your voice, a 
look on your face, that brings her back to me. Had 
she lived, she would have been of your age. 

Grace. Then let her live in me. I could toil for 
you, suffer for you, to be recompensed with the delight 
of calling you "mother." 

Hester. Then call me — No, no ; I had forgotten. 
Grace, that name cannot be given me now. My fair 
fame has been tampered with. O Grace, child, pity 
me. I am innocent in thought and deed, but the 
sharp dart of suspicion has been launched at me, and 
I must bear the sting. 

Grace. But not alone. Let me share your sorrow ; 
comfort you as you can comfort me. 

Hester. No, no, it cannot be. I should love you so 
dearly, that when the sneers of the world should come 
— as come they would — and should part us, my mis- 
ery would be more than I could bear. Heaven help 
me, I am indeed accursed! {Totters to arm-chair, 
throws herself into it / covers her face with her hand' 
kerchief, and weeps.) 

Grace, c. O, this is cruel ! 

Thorpe (outside c). Grace, Grace ! (Miters c. and 
comes down n.) You little witch, why do you run 
away from me, when I've come here on purpose to see 
you? (Takes her hand.) Yes, Grace, to woo you ? 



132 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Chrace. To woo — ine ? (Hester removes her hand' 
kerchief, and stares at hfm.) 

Thorpe. Yes, Grace ; you shall be my wife : I love 
you so dearly. 

Grace. No, no, not that. (Snatches away her hand, 
and runs R., leaving him staring at Hester.) Death 
rather. \_Exit R. 1 E. 

Thorpe (amazed). Hester Thorne! 

Hester (bending fomoard). Ay, Alfred Thorpe, Hes- 
ter Thorne, the woman you have wronged. Coward ! 
Twelve years have not changed your heart, though 
your locks have all the beauty of honorable years. 
(Hises.) 

Thorpe. Well, we meet again. How ? as friends or 
foes? 

Hester. Can you ask? Dare you ask? You, who 
with smooth tongue and smiling lace blasted a happy 
home, wrecked a good man's happiness, and sent a lov- 
ing woman forth to battle with the world. 

Thorpe. Hm! Well, I have your answer — Foes. 
So be it. What are you doing here ? 

Hester. My duty. 

Thorpe. You must be my friend Gay lord's house- 
keeper. Strange I never heard your name ! Perhaps 
you have changed it? 

Hester. No ; 'twas a good name, given me by an 
honorable man. I have not soiled, so should not blush 
to bear it. 

Thorpe. Indeed ! Well, you know I could make 
this place too hot for you ? 

Hester. Could you? Try it. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 133 

Thorpe. A whisper to Gaylord, and the house- 
keeper's place would be vacant. 

Hester. Do not leave your friend in the dark. Give 
him your confidence, your advice. Be an honorable 
counsellor — you are so fitted for it. 

Thorpe. Hester Thorne, beware ! Do not tempt 
me to crush you ! On one condition I am silent. Let 
not that girl Grace know we have met before. 

Hester. Condition? No; I will make no bargain 
with a villain. Do your worst. I have the courage — 
weak woman that you judge me — to fight you there 
— the power to win. 

Thorpe. Enough. I know my duty to my friend ; 
be assured I shall perform it. 

{Enter Amos l., with a valise in hand.) 

Amos. Thorpe, I come to beg your pardon for a 
most inhospitable act. 1 am called away suddenly; 
have five minutes to catch the stage; may be gone two 
or three days. Make yourself at home here, and trust 
your comfort to Mrs. Thorne. Good-bye {shakes hands 
with him). Good-bye, Mrs. Thorne {shakes hands 
with her, then goes up). 

Thorpe. But, Gaylord, one word. 

Amos {comes dozen). Well, be quick; I've no time 
to lose. 

Thorpe. Well — {looks at Mrs. Thorne ; she smiles 
and goes vp stage to table.) Amos, you believe me to 
be your friend? 

Amos. Certainly. 

Thorpe. That woman there is dangerous. 



134 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos (whistles). You don't menu it? Well, Thorpe, 
do von know, I've just begun to tliink so? 

Thorpe. I've met her before. She i .■; not what she 
seems. She's a deserted wife. 

Amos. Is she, poor thing? 

Thor*pe. Deserted by her husband, and not without 
cause. I could tell you a story. 

Amos. But I haven't time. Goodness gracious! 
how my legs will have to fly now ! 

Thorpe. And you will trust that woman here after 
what I have told you ? 

Amos. Certainly. Why not, Thorpe ? I'm sur- 
prised at you — a man of the world, you know. She's 
a good housekeeper, and — and — the rest is my secret 
(with mock pomposity). The mysteries of my " sim- 
ple, honest country life" — ahem! — can scarcely interest 
you — the man of intrigue, you know. Don't be fright- 
ened, she won't hurt. Good-bye (goes up). Ah, Mrs. 
Thorne, I believe I lbrgot to shake hands with you 
(gives hand). 

Hester. A pleasant journey, sir. 

Amos. Thank you. Take good care of yourself 
(with a look at Thorpe). I know you'll care lor the 
comfort of my guest, for I have every confidence in 
you ; nothing could shake that. Good-bye (rvns ojf'c). 

Thorpe. Curse that woman ! she has bewitched 
him (goes r). 

Hester (coming down l.). Well, Mr. Thorpe, it 
seems your power to harm me here is weak. 

[Exit door l. 

Thorpe. Time will tell. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 1-35 

(Enter Grace and Litchetia, arm in arm, n.) 

Lucretia. Perfectly enchanting! I had no idea the 
country could be — so romantic ! O, Mr. Thorpe, I 
have had such an Arcadian ramble in the farmyard, 
seeing the little chickens running about with the aban- 
don of children ; the fatherly roosters with their clarion 
chorus; and the motherly biddies, with their careful 
affection for their youmr. Even the swine in their 
rustic abode, with the little pink-nosed pigs frolicking 
about them, was a delicious picture — so romantic! 
( Goes to lounge.) 

Phil {outside). Not for me — not for me. There's 
freedom without. I'll be none of your hot-house 
flowers. Good-bye. 

Grace. Ah ! there's Crazy Phil. I've lured him in 
once ; I'll try it again. 

Thorpe. Shall I never get a word with her? 

Grace (at door; smiles off). He sees me. Yes, -I 
triumph. He 's here. (Phil runs up to c. with gun.) 

Phil. Ah, those bright eyes again ! There 's magic 
in their glance. Wife — child — home — come back 
to this desolate heart ! 

Thorpe. Ah ! (Aside) Brought to light at last. 
{Aloud) Crazy Phil indeed! Ha, ha, ha! 

Phil (starts). Ah, that voice ! 'Tis he — the de- 
stroyer! Years come and go, but fate holds the lines 
of life. We meet at last, — despoiler of my home ! 
Wretch accursed ! Death to thee ! Death to thee ! 
(liaises gun.) 

Grace. No, no. (Puns down to Thoepe and throws 



136 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

arms about his neck.) lie 's mad ! he \s marl ! (How- 
aud enters door c, seizes Phil around waist, and 
snatches gun.) 

Howard. Madman, hold ! 

Phil {struggling to free himself). Away ! He's 
mine — he's mine! Foul bird of prey! you feasted at 
my hearth-stone; you plucked from out my heart my 
life ! my love ! Henceforth you are marked ; my aim 
is sure. Beware of Phil Thorne ! 

{Enter Mas. Thorne, l.) 

Hester. Phil ! — my husband ! {Falls with her arm 
and head in arm-chair.) 

Tableau. Phil at door c, his clenched hand raised. 
Howard, with arm about waist, holding him back. 
Thorpe r. Grace, with arms about his neck, head 
on his breast. Hester lying with her head in arm- 
chair. Lucretia on lounge, looking on. 
[Slow Curtain."] 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 137 



Act II. — Scene: Same as in Act I. Easel removed 
from the stage. Foot of lounge turned toward 
window, r. Moonlight through xcindow strong on 
Phil, who lies upon lounge, boots changed for slip- 
pers. Howard standing at head of lounge, leaning 
against flat, his hand on Phil's head. Hester 
standing behind window in flat, looking in at Phil. 
Footlights down. Music soft and loio at rising 
of curtain. 

Phil. How grandly the moonlight tips my old hut 
above the clouds! Dear old place; would I were 
there, where all is peace. Ah, Howard, when I de- 
scend that mountain, I leave behind my better self. 
The sight of the habitations of man awakes bit- 
ter memories of wrong and outrage, fill me with 
loathing of my race, and stir my baser nature with 
fierce desires for revenge. Why is it? Here I am 
always under the clouds; dark, dismal night forever 
here. 

Howard. And yet the moonlight lingers as loving- 
ly about you here as there. See how it floods the 
fields and shimmers on the stream. Ah, Phil, 'tis a 
beautiful world — this of ours; and, whether on the 
mountain-top or in the valley, robed in light or darkness 
at thi desire of our own hearts. 

Phil. That's queer philosophy ! 

Howard. 'Tis the truth, Phil. I am young and 
buoyant; life has gone smoothly for me, and all is 



138 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

light. You have suffered — still suffer; and the dnrk- 
ness of night has fallen upon your heart, blinding your 
eyes to all the beauty about you. Am I not right ? 

Phil. Why am I lying here, Howard ? 

Howard. I am glad to hear you ask that, Phil. 'Tis 
three days since you were suddenly prostrated. You 
remember the day we went gunning — Monday? 

Phil. Yes. 

Hoicard. On our return you were suddenly taken 
ill, and until this afternoon you were unconscious. 

Phil. Yes. Well, I'm better now. But why was 
I taken ill ? 

Howard. Well, you don't care to know that, Phil ? 

Phil. You need not pause, Howard. I know I 
met here under your roof my wife and — and — 

Howard. Mr. Thorpe. 

Phil. Under the same roof, — he, the false, — and 
she, the faithless ! O, Howard that man — that fiend ! 
Where is he? Did I slay him? 

Howard. He is gone ; where, I know not. 

Phil {starting to his feel). No matter ; I'd reach 
him, were he at the centre of the earth. Curse him ! 
I thought long years had dulled my spirit: but the 
sight of him has aroused the avenging demon in my 
soul, nought hut his life can satisfy. (Goes to n.) 

Howard (comes down l.). No, no, Phil ; forget your 
wrongs ; forgive your enemy. 

Phil (r.). Forgive him ? Howard, that man was 
my dearest friend. We both loved one woman. She 
chose me; and he, clasping my hand, wished mo hap- 
piness, and fled abroad, to crush out his passion. Well, 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 1X9 

his ■wish was fulfilled. I was happy, supremely happy. 
Wife ami child — two golden links in life's chain — were 
mine. Then he returned, still my friend. With full 
faith in his friendship, I received him a welcome guest 
in my home. Then, then, over the sunshine of my 
life lulled the dark clouds. He was one of your soci- 
ety-men — glib of tongue, ready to fetch and caYry at 
the glance of a bright eye ; all smiles and pretty ways 
— bah ! a ladies' m:in — while I was brusque and some- 
times rough, — though not to her — no, not to her. 
( Crosses to b.) I saw she was pleased at his attentions. 

Howard. And you were jealous ? 

Phil. Not then. But one day I saw him slip a note 
into her hand; another; caught him at her feet ; :md 
then, filled with fury, I followed him from the house 
to his hotel, and there faced him and demanded an 
explanation. Then, IIowar<l, that man, — my friend* 
trembling in every limb, with tears streaming down his 
cheeks, — confessed to me that he still loved my wile ; 
and more, that she loved him ; showed me letters 
signed with the name I gave her, confessing her mis- 
take in making me her choice. In maddening rage I 
felled him to the floor and fled — fled to my now un- 
happy home {comes to l.). 

Howard. And your wife ? 

Phil. Lay sleeping sweetly with a smile upon her 
lips, my child beside her. I raised my hand with pas- 
sion, to dash out of that face the beauty that had so 
deceived me. But I could not do it. I snatched the 
child from its mother's side, and went out into the 
night — night to me for evermore. 



140 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Howard. Without a word from your wife, Phil? 
Condemned her you had sworn to love, cherish, and 
protect? Crazy Phil indeed! You were a madman 
then ! 

Phil. Had I not proofs ? Her letters — the con- 
fession of my friend ? 

Howard. Friend? Base coward that he was! 
False to her; false to you! One word of denial from 
her lips — the wife of your bosom, the mother of your 
child — should have outweighed his guilty confession 
a thousand-fold. Tell me, Phil — you sought her after- 
wards? 

Phil. No, never ; since that night we have been 
strangers. Never met until I found them here together. 
You hear, Howard, — together here! 

Howard. A mere accident. Mrs Thorne is our 
housekeeper. Thorpe, my father's friend and guest. 

Phil. Ah, you know not that man — this wo- 
man ! 

Howard. I know no woman base enough to betray 
a loving husband's confidence. I will not believe this 
of her whom I respect and honor as I did my mother. 
Phil, you must meet her here, listen to the story from 
her lips. 

Phil. No, I will not meet her. I will back to my 
hut above the clouds. 

Howard. And leave her still under the cloud that 
has saddened her life. O, Phil ! Phil ! I thought you 
true and noble. 

Phil. Think what you will. Wronged by my friend, 
betrayed by my wife, I have lost all worth living for. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 141 

(Fiercely.) I hnte the world ; I hate myself! Let me 
go ! — there — there — (totters). 

Howard (supporting him). Not to-night, Phil. You 
are weak, ill. Forgive me; it was cruel in me to probe 
those angry wounds. Come back to your room. We 
are friends still, Phil. 

Phil (talcing his hand). Heaven bless yon, Howard ! 
I've none but you now. Don't speak ; something in 
your words has stirred me strangely. Be silent ; let 
me think ; let me rest. (Music soft ; Phil leads him 
off door l. Hester comes down slowly, c, watching 
the door.) 

Hester. I have heard his voice; unobserved listened 
to his story. How he has misconceived my actions, Hea- 
ven, myself, and he the wily plotter alone know. He 
confessed with tears in his eyes, "base hypocrite! O, 
Phil, my husband — lost to me! He shall confess once 
more; confess the truth — the honest truth, to do me 
justice. Fool that I have been! I have allowed sus- 
picion to crush me to the earth, without one effort to 
clear my name. Now my woman's nature is in arms 
against this base injustice (comes to r.). I am not 
friendless ; those true-hearted sons of the soil — Hea- 
ven bless them ! — believe me, trust me. They have 
given me courage to seek the weakness in this villain's 
armor. Hester, be brave, be resolute, and victory may 
yet be yours. [Exit r. 1 e. 

{Enter Grace, c.) 

Grace. O dear! for the first time I feel really 
homesick! There's no pleasure in roaming in the 



142 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

moonlight alone ; it requires two to take in the full 
beauty of a night like this! Heigho ! I miss my usual 
escort. (Takes book from table, and goes to lounge; 
sits.) Whittier. (Opens book.) "Howard Gaylord." 
So, so — my farmer friend is an admirer of our New 
England poet. It's been well thumbed, too, especially 
"Among the Hills." (Beads.) 

" From school, and ball, and rout, she came, 
The city's fair, pale daughter, 
To drink the wine of mountain air, 
Beside the Bearcamp Water." 

That's splendid ! my own favorite, — and it seems to 
be his too. The leaves are dog-eared, and the page 
muddy with finger marks. O, 

" The city's fair, pale daughter," 

must be very dear to him. I wonder if in his heart- 
picture she bears any resemblance to me ? O, here he 
is ! (Heads.) 

(Enter Howard, door l.) 

Howard (aside). Reading in the moonlight. What 
a pretty picture she makes ! Alone — there's a temp- 
tation. If I only had the gift of tongue that graces her 
city admirers, I might — well — say that which would 
make us strangers. I could not bear her scorn. 
(Aloud) Reading by moonlight? Take care, Miss 
Grace ; even the brightness of your eyes may be 
dimmed. 

Grace (looking ^lp). Ah, Mr. Gaylord, there's no 
danger : 'tis as light as noonday. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



143 



Howard. The book must bo very interesting that 
can so attract you. 

Grace. It is. I am " Among the Hills," and you 
step in very apropos. 

Howard. "Among the Hills?" Then you are in 
that region of the unequalled poet's t'.mcy, where I 
most delight to wander. 

Grace. I should think so by the appearance of your 
book. Were you a boy at school, you would get many 
bad marks for the very bad marks you have placed 
upon it. 

Howard. I am a boy at school, Miss Grace — the 
school of the painter. Will you teach me ? 

Grace. I ? I am but a scholar. You know the 
poem ? 

Howard. By heart. I could repeat it word for 
word. 

Grace. 'Tis very odd you should have dropped in 
just at this time, for I was reading. {Reads.) 

" She sat beneath the broad-armed elms 
That skirt the mowing-meadow, 
And watched the gentle west-wind weave 
The grass with shine and shadow." 

Now here 's where you came in : 

" Beside her, from the summer heat 
To share her grateful screening, 
With forehead bared, the farmer stood, 
Upon his pitchfork leaning." 

Only you haven't the pitchfork. 

Howard. Go on. I could listen to you all night ; 
you throw so much heart into it. 



144 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Grace. Do I ? {Reads.) 

" Framed in its dump, dark locks, his face 
Had nothing mean or common, — 
Strong, manly, true, the tenderness 

And pride beloved of woman. • 

" She looked up, glowing with the health 
The country air had brought her, 
And, laughing, said, ' You lack a wife, 
Your mother lacks a daughter. 

" ' To mend your frock and bake your bread 
You do not need a lady; 
Be sure among these brown old homes 
Is some one waiting ready.' " 

Grace. O, I forgot you have no mother! But the rest 
is true. There is "some one waiting ready." 

Howard. In " these brown old homes " ? No, I am 
free to take up the burden of the lay. (Recites with 
spirit.) 

" He bent his black brows to a frown, 

He set his white teeth tightly. 

' 'Tis well,' lie said, * for one like you 

To choose for me so lightly. 

" 'You think me deaf and blind; you bring 
Your winning graces hither 
As free as if from cradle-time 
We two had played together. 

11 'You tempt me with your laughing eyes, 
Your cheeks of sundown's blushes, 
A motion as of waving grain, 
A music as of thrushes. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 145 

" ' No mood is mine to seek a wife, 
Or daughter for my mother ; 
Who loves you loses in that love 
All power to love another ! 

" 'I dare your pity or your scorn, 

With pride your own exceeding; 
•I fling my heart into your lap 
{Kneels at her feet.) 

Without a word of pleading.' " 

O, Grace, Grace, it is the truth. I love you, and you 
alone. ( Takes her hand.) 

Grace. Why, that's not in the poem. 

Howard. No ; it is in my heart. 

Grace. {Looks at him archly ; places her hand in 
his.) It's a pity to spoil the poem. {JRecites.) 

" She looked up in his face of pain 

So archly, j r et so tender : 
' And if I lend you mine,' she said, 
' Will you forgive the lender ? 

" ' Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; 
And see you not, my farmer, 
How weak and fond a woman waits 
Behind this silken armor ? 

{Puts her hand on his shoulder, and looks down into 
his eyes.) 

" 1 1 love you ; on that love alone, 
And not my worth, presuming, 
Will you not trust for summer fruit 
The tree in May-day blooming? '" 

Howard, as frankly as you offered, as freely will I re- 
10 



146 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

ceive, yours — yours alone. {Kisses his brow. Both 
rise.) 

Howard. Ah, Grace, Grace ; you have made me 
very happy. (Puts his arm about her waist.) Come, 
let's go into the garden. 

" And so the farmer found a wife, 
His mother found a daughter; 
Grace. There looks no happier home than hers 

On pleasant Bearcamp Water." 

Howard. Ah, Grace, Heaven bless the dear poet. 

Grace. It does, "for all his works do praise hiirr." 
( They pass off through the window k., his arm about 
her waist.) 

{Enter Nat, c, with Susy leaning on his arm.) 

Susy. Why, Mr. Nnylor, what's the matter with 
you? You have not made a rhyme for the last hour. 

Nat. The minstrel's strings are mute ; the fire upon 
the altar of poesy smoulders; the theme which agitates 
my brain respectfully declines to shape itself for utter- 
ance — because why ? 

Susy. Well, perhaps the strings are rotten, the 
wood green, and the theme too weighty ? 

Nat. O, for seraphic light to break the gloom. 

Susy. Wouldn't moonlight do as well ? There's 
plenty of it here (sits on lounge). 

Nat (standing c.) 

Cold Luna floods thee with her silvery light, 
O, beauteous maid, ne'er saw I fairer sight. 

Susy (aside). The wood is sizzling on the altar; 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 147 

we'll soon have another blaze. {Aloud) Don't be so 
distant. Come, sit down. (Nat sits.) Now what is 
this mighty theme ? 

Nat. 'Tis Love — ecstatic Love. 

Susy. O ! 

Nat. I wander up and down in strange unrest, 
For love is struggling — is struggling — 

Susy. Underneath my vest. That's good. 

Nat. O, no, no. 

Susy. Ha, ha, ha ! That's what I call clothing a 
sentiment in warm language. Well, what next? 

Nat. Nothing. There it struggles, there it sticks. 
O, Susy, Susy, I'm getting — 

Susy. Boozy. That's a capital rhyme. 

Nat. Miss Susy Gaylord, you shock me ! 

Susy. Do I ? That's a shocking confession when 
I'm doing my best to help you. I told you I would. 
Now, isn't that moon splendid ? See the trees yonder, 
with leaves of silver (both look off k.). 

(Enter Chips, c.) 

Chips {at door). I was just going by. Ah, there 
they are billing :ind cooing like a couple of lunatics. 
( Creeps down stage to arm-chair, turns it round so that 
back is towards Nat ; gets on his knees in it, and 
watches them over the top while speaking.) I'm bio wed 
if I don't hear what's going on. I ain't going to be 
cut out with Susy without a wrestle. 

Nat. A fairy scene. It moves me, thrills me ; my 
heart heaves with bliss. 

Chips (aside). Well, clap on a little mustard, and 
make it blister. 



148 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Nat. And see those fairy forms moving among the 
trees. 

Chips (aside). Fairy forms? I'm clamed if Gay lord's 
pigs ain't got loose again. 

Nat. Ah, for a poet's home in that delightful grove, 
with an angel ever at my side — that angel you. 

Susy. Law, Mr. Naylor, how you do go on ; first 
Chips calls me an angel, and now you. 

Nat. Chips ? Mention not that rustic booby. 

Chips. Booby ! ( Gets out of chair ; starts towards 
Nat, then runs back.) 

Susy (rises indignantly). Booby ! How dare you 
call my friend such a name! 

Nat. It is the truth : he is a rough, uncouth booby. 
I know he seeks to gain your love. But when I, with 
my pure, poetic nature, tell you — sweet and beautiful 
damsel — that your charms have kindled a flame in 
this before obdurate heart; that I love you — 

Susy. No more, sir. Booby indeed ! Curtis Cliip- 
mnn is far above you in manhood, nobility, and good- 
ness. He is rough and uncouth as the rocky soil he 
with his strong hands has made to bring forth abun- 
dant fruits. A man, sir, and not a maudlin idiot filled 
with gush and moonshine. (Comes down r.) 

Nat (goes to a). And have I been deceived in you ? 
you, whose poetic nature, blending with mine — 

Susy. Has sported with you. Yes. O, Mr. Nay- 
lor, go back to your attic. Live in the clouds ; feed on 
Poesy's hills — you'll find no mate in me. 

Nat. Alas! I am deceived! My heart is crushed— 
My spirit broken — 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 149 

Susy. And your verses mushed ! 
Ha, lin, ha ! Good-bye, my poet. We might have been 
good friends ; but when you attack Chips — my Chips — ■ 

The rustic booby, really I must laugh, 
For I propose to be his better half. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Nat. Farewell, cold Susy, I have wooed in vain ! 

Susy. You have ; your wood is green and crossed in 
grain. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Nat (at door, a). Farewell. I'm blasted — blasted. 

[Exit c. 

Chips (aside). I'm a blasted liar if I don't wal- 
lop him! (Runs up and catches Susy in his arms ; 
swings her round.) O, Susy, Susy — you are an angel ! 
(Susy screams ; Chips runs off c.) 

Susy. Well, I never! Cliips has heard all. There's 
no more fun for me. Dear me, I've forgotten Mr. Tur- 
tle's hourly lunch ! He'll be raving and starving too. 

'[Exit door l. 

(Enter, c, Turtle with Miss Lucretia on his arm.) 

Lucretia. So kind of you, Mr. Turtle, to wander 
with me in the beautiful night; it quite fills an aching 
void — so romantic. 

Turtle (aside). It gives me an aching void — so 
hungry. 

Lucretia (going towards windoic). Is this the 
' witching hour of night,' which the poet so beautifully 
speaks of? 

Turtle. Can't say (looking at his watch). It's my 
hour for lunch. 



150 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Lucretia (sits on lounge). What a delightful situ- 
ation ; moonbeams shrouding me as in a silver veil! 
Ah, I've often dreamed of such an hour as this — a 
scene like this — when the future partner of my joys 
and sorrows should claim me for his own — so ro- 
mantic. 

Turtle (aside).. Well, she lives on dreams. I'm 
glad I don't. 

Lucretia. He must be one who would love me for 
myself alone, and not for my money. 

Turtle (aside.) Has the old girl got money? 
(Aloud.) O Miss Lucretia, could there live a wretch 
who, looking upon your charms, would dare to woo 
you for your fortune ? (Aside.) That's neat and non- 
committal. (Aloud.) And yet, your fortune renders 
you independent of all suitors. A few thousands — 

Lucretia. A lew ? I can count by tens of thou- 
sands ! 

Turtle (aside). Tens? She's a rich old girl. What 
dinners! — what suppers! (Approaching her tender- 
ly.) My dear Miss Lucretia, what would be hundreds 
of thousands to the man who, knowing your virtues, 
basking in your smiles, should be so fortunate as to 
win you ? 

Lucretia. Then you believe in love, Mr. Turtle ; 
pure, genuine love, that scorns wealth and station? 

Turtle. Unbounded love ! Yes, Lucretia (sits be- 
side her). 

Lucretia. Love and a cottage — so romantic. 

Turtle. Yes, Lucretia. (Aside.) Love-cake and 
cottage-pudding. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 151 

Lucretia. "With innocent lambs sporting about the 
door. 

Turtle. Yes, Lucretia. (Aside) Or smoking on the 
table. 

Lucretia. And the birds — What is your favorite 
bird ? 

Turtle. My favorite bird ? (Aside) Quail on toast. 
(Aloud) The cook — 0, dear Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite flower? 

Turtle (aside). Best Family. (Aloud) Tiie Marry 
gol<l, Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite sent? 

Turtle (aside). At the dinner-table. (Aloud) Un- 
der the on.k, Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite vegetable ? 

Turtle (aside). Rare dishes. (Aloud) I could not 
turn up my nose at any of them, Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. All, what taste you have — so romantic. 
This is my dream of bliss — a cottage and a companion 
— bonds of affection and notes of gladness. 

Turtle. My heart echoes the glad refrain. (Aside) 
Government bonds and bank notes. 

Lucretia. What a delightful picture — so romantic. 

Turtle (aside). Such a picture should have a gold 
frame. (Aloud) Dear Miss Lucretia, could you look 
with favor on me — share your tens of thousands — 

Lucretia. Romantic visions, cnstles in the sky ; so 
ethereal; so much more to be enjoyed than palaces of 
earth — my wealth, my all. What care I for the well- 
filled purse which another squanders? I am poor in 
lucre, but a millionnaire in love. O, Titus, spare my 
blushes I Yes — (Leans upon Ms shoulder.) 



152 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Turtle {aside). She's poor as porridge. Here's a 
scrape. 

Lucretia. O, Titus, " Whisper what thou feelest." 
So romantic in the moonshine. 

Turtle {aside). Hang it, it's nil moonshine. {Aloud) 
Lucretia, I feel — I feel — (aside) hungry 

Lucretia. I have so longed for this delicious mo- 
ment. 

Turtle (aside). No douht of it. (Aloud) Miss Lucre- 
tia, when I asked you to look with favor upon me, I felt 
how unworthy I was of your affection ; how badly 
fitted I am to become your protector. This slender 
frame — 

Lucretia. What care I for the frame; it's the treas- 
ure within I covet — the heart, Titus — the heart. 
Nothing shall tear me from you ! 

(Enter Susy, l., with candles, lohich she places on 
table.) 

Turtle (aside). O, here's a situation. 

Susy (aside). I declare ! Making love ! I'll spoil 
that. (Aloud) Your lunch is ready — cold shoulder 
of mutton. 

Turtle (jumps up). O glorious signal of relief! 

Lucretia. O, Titus, you will not leave me in this 
delicious moment ? 

Turtle. For that delicious shoulder I must, Lucre- 
tia. My heart says stay ; my stomach says go. The 
mighty always conquer the weak. I'd offer thee this 
hand of mine, if I could — could — banish the cold 
shoulder, — if I could inhabit your airy castles. But 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 153 

look at my size ; look at ray waist ! I cannot feed on 
love. Farewell ; be happy with another ; I've not the 
least objection. I'll do the same; I'll be happy with 
another. (Aside) The cold shoulder. [Exit L. 

Lucretia. The wretch ! — the gourmand ! the — O ! 
desert me for a cold shoulder! — me, who has reposed 
upon his warm shoulder! O, I could cry — but I 
won't. I'll wander like a spectre amid the trees, bro- 
kenhearted. So romantic. [Exit through window. 

Susy. Nofc, I wonder where she's going at this 
time of night ? (Goes to window.) O my goodness ! 
There's Chips and that Naylor chap stripping off their 
coats out there in the pasture ! I do believe they're 
going to fight ! Chips! Chips! 

[Exit through window. 

(Enter Phil, door l.) 

Phil. I cannot rest. When I close my eyes, the 
sleeping fiiee of my wife comes before me as I saw it 
that night, as innocent in its expression as the child's 
that slept beside her. Have I been mistaken ? Have 
I all these years been fighting a demon of my own 
conjuring? — all these years, with no confidant, blind- 
ly treading the path of error? This boy — with his 
chivalrous honor, makes me blush with shame. He 
loves her, esteems her, — she who was to him a stran- 
ger but a few short months ago ; — while I, with her 
life knit to mine by the tenderest tie, have blasted her 
name, made her a creature to be shunned, by ray base 
desertion of her, — perhaps without cause. I'll not 
be hasty, but I will hear the story from her lips. 



154 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Pcrhnps — perhaps — O, Heavens ! if she is innocent 
— what am I? A wretch too base to live. Let me 
not think of that. If she be innocent, how gladly would 
I die to clear her name (slowly crosses stage and exits 
through window, n.). 

Amos (outside). Hallo! Susy ! Howard ! Mrs. Thorne ! 
(Enters c.) Well, well, well! The house deserted; 
nobody to welcome me, its master, when he brings 
such glorious tidings. Ah, here's some one at last. 

(Enter from window, Grace and Howard ; from 
r. 1 e. Hester.) 

Howard. Ah, father, welcome home (shakes hands'). 

Amos. Well, how are you ? And my little painter 
friend ? (Shakes hands with Grace.) Mrs. Thorne, 
I'm glad to meet you again. (Shakes hands with her.) 

Hester. You must be tired and hungry. 

Amos. Hungry ? Why, I'm famishing ; and so is 
my horse. Howard, take care of him. 

Howard. At once, sir. (Exit c. Grace sits on 
lounge.) 

Hester (going to door l.). I will see that your 
supper is prepared. 

Amos. Not just yet. Mrs. Thorne, I have been 
absent in your interests. Are you not anxious to know 
the result? 

Hester. I am more anxious for your comfort, sir. I 
told you it were better to let the past rest. 

Amos. Yes ; three days ago you surprised me with 
the story of that past. I told you I would be your 
friend. I come to-night to surprise you. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 155 

Hester. ■ Surprise me ? 

Amos. Yes. Your daughter lives ! 

Hester. No, no, it is impossible ; she died years 
ago. I learned it — 

Amos. From a newspaper report. It was a lie ; a 
forgery ; wrought by a cunning hand to keep you from 
your child. 

Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can it be? Shall I see her 
again ? O, dear, dear friend, tell me all. 

Grace (rising). Your pardon ; you do not desire 
company, and I will — 

Amos. Stay where you are, Grace. This story may 
interest you, as showing to what extent villany may 
be earned by so unscrupulous a man as Alfred Thorpe. 

Hester. Alfred Thorpe! 

Grace. My guardian ! 

Amos. Mrs. Thorne, the story of your wrongs made 
a deep impression upon me. I was quick to catch any 
suspicious circumstance, and from his own lips I gained 
the information that led me to believe he was the 
traitorous friend. 

Hester. He was; he was. 

Amo\ Then his fat friend, Turtle, in an angry mo- 
ment gave .me another hint, which I was not slow to 
take advantage of. I took the stage, and yesterday 
alighted at a pleasant little place forty miles from here, 
called Greenland. There I hunted up an old friend of 
your husband. From him I learned that your husband 
had left a child with him years ago ; gave it to him to 
be taken care of; to be given up if called for, — other- 
wise, to live and die as his child. From that day to 



156 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

this he has never seen the father; but three years after, 
a man bearing an order came for the child and took it 
away. 

Heater. And that is all ? 

Amos. No ; that is but the beginning. I traced the 
child to its new home ; traced the report of its death ; 
picked up straggling threads in the child's life ; the 
name of its father ; the name of the bearer of the 
order ; until I proved conclusively that your child is 
alive and well. 

Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can I find her? can I clasp 
her in my arms ? 

Am os. Hester (taking her hand), as I believe in 
truth and justice, believe me, the words I am about to 
speak are the truth, truth beyond a doubt. The child 
that bore the name of Grace Thorne now bears the 
name of Grace Ingalls {goes down r.). 

Grace. O, mother, mother ! (Huns into Hester's 
arms.) 

Hester (clasping her in her arms). My child ! My 
dear, dear child ! 

Amos. Well, it strikes me that " rough country 
life " is looking up. 

Grace. O, I am so happy ! No earthly .name is so 
dear as that of " mother ! " 

Hester. Save that of " child." Grace, my darling, I 
feel this must be a reality, — so much in your face that 
has attracted me grows into the likeness of the babe 
torn from me, that I cannot doubt. 

Grace. And I catch the same tenderness in your 
loving eyes that has been to me a blessed memory for 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 157 

years! O, mother, mother! there is so much love 
springing to new life in my heart, there is no room for 
doubt. 

Amos (crossing to door l., behind). Now, having 
satisfactorily reported the results of my journey, with 
your leave, ladies, I will now satisfy the cravings of my 
appetite. 

Hester. I will attend you, sir. 

Amos. No, no; I will not interrupt you. 

Hester. Nay, I insist. You have been so kind to me, 
Mr. Gaylord — such a dear friend — (gives her hand) 
I know not how to recompense you. 

Amos. Well, snppose you give me a cup of tea. 
After you, madam. (Opens doo?', steps back and bows. 
Hester goes to door, then turns, stops a minute, runs 
c. and embraces Grace, then runs off door l. Amos, 
about to go, tttms and looks at Grace.) 

Grace (runs and throws her arms about his neck). 
Heaven bless you, dear Mr. Gaylord ; you have made 
me very, very happy. 

Amos (kissing her forehead). Serves you right. 
(Aside) I'd like to be a second father to that girl. Ah, 
well, if I've made them happy, I must be content. 

\_Exit door l. 

Grace. Dear old man, how I love him ! That's a 
very proper sentiment too, for he's Howard's father ; 
and if — 

(Enter Thorpe, c.) 

Thorpe. Grace, — Grace, my darling (comes down 
r. with outstretched hands ; she starts back to l.). 
Grace. Mr. Thorpe ! 



158 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Thorpe. Why tins coldness ? Have thoy turned 
you against me? Has my enforced absence shocked 
yon ? I could not help it ; the sight of that man who 
has basely wronged me — 

Grace. Spare your apologies, I beg, Mr. Thorpe. 
You are master of your own actions- No one has been 
surprised at your absence. Why should I be ? 

Thorpe. Grace, you know how dear you are to me. 
No, I am wrong; you cannot. I have watched you 
from childhood wilh all a father's care. You have 
grown into beautiful womanhood ; and with no pater- 
nal blood to check the feeling, a strong and tender love 
has taken the place of fatherly interest. Grace Ingalls, 
I love you with the one mighty passion of my life. 
Will you become my wife ? 

Grace. No, no ; do not press me. I owe yon much ; 
my heart is filled with gratitude for your tender care. 

Thorpe. You have much cause to be grateful. I 
have freely lavished upon you wealth, and made you 
renowned. These should make you ponder well ere 
you refuse the boon I ask. 

s Grace. Mr. Thorpe, when three days ago you 
broached this subject to my great surprise, I weighed 
well my duty and my inclination. I appreciate all 
your goodness ; thank you a thousand times lor all 
your care ; and coidd I repay you — 

Thorpe. *You can ; you must ; — with your love. 

Grace. Impossible. Within an hour my life has 
wondronsly changed. Mr. Thorpe, I have often asked 
you to tell me of my parents — of my father. 

Thorpe. I have told you — he is dead. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 159 

Grace. And my mother? 

Thorpe. She, too, is dead {aside) to you. 

Grace. And this, you tell me, is the truth ; on your 
honor? 

Thorpe. On my honor. 

Grace. And you ask me to marry you ? Mr. 
Thorpe, with your words still ringing in my ears, I 
refer you to one who alone has the right to dispose of 
my hand. {Points to Hester, who enters door l.) 
My mother. (Howard appears c.) 

Thorpe {starts and goes r.). Her mother ! {Aside) 
Whose fiendish work is this ? 

(Howard comes down ; Grace takes his arm, and 
they ]K(ss off through window, r.) 

Hester. You hear, Alfred Thorpe : that girl, pure 
and innocent, calls me mother. 

Thorpe. She has no right. 

Hester. 'Tis useless to deny what can he fully proved. 
Every link in the chain of evidence, from the time you 
kidnapped my child, has been fully tested by Amos 
Gaylord. 

Thorpe. Amos Gaylord ? 

Hester. Yea; the man whom you sought to turn 
against me has outwitted you. With all your cun- 
ning, the honest, simple-hearted farmer has wrought 
the good work which gives the mother to her child 
again. 

Thorpe. And you triumph ! How ? You have 
snatched the girl from her home — a life of case and 
luxury — for what ? To share the hard fate of a sus- 
pected and despised woman. 



160 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Hester. Suspected ? Yes. Despised ? No. True, 
warm friends have gathered about me in my darkest 
hour. I am strong in my own innocence, and shall 
live down the distrust which you alone have created. 
Ay, more, I stand between you and the woman you 
love. We have changed places, Alfred Thorpe, for I 
now have the power to make your life as miserable as 
you have made mine. 

Thorpe. But you will not. Hester, I love thnt girl ; 
dearly, madly love her. Give her to me. Let all 
that has passed be forgotten. I will make any repara- 
tion you may ask ; only give her to me. See (kneels), 
on my knees I ask this precious boon. 

Hester. On your knees — Ah ! (Phil, with his 
emus folded, his eyes on the ground as if in deep 
thought, enters from window it., and passes out 
through door a, Hester looking at him. Thorpe 
has his head bowed, and does not see him. Aside) Let 
me be firm. (Aloud) Alfred Thorpe — (Phil is just 
passing the window l. c. ; he starts, stops, and watches 
through window) — once, trembling in every limb, and 
with tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a 
confession to my husband. Are you now prepared to 
confess tome? 

Thorpe (rising). What shall I confess ? 

Hester. The truth. If you hope for my consent — 
if you hope for mercy hereafter — tell me, why have you 
so bitterly pursued mo? 

Thorpe. Because I loved you, Hester. I could not 
bear to see you the wife of that man, Philip Thorne. 
You chose him. From that moment I determined you 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 161 

should be mine. I would break the chain that bound 
you to him. 'Twas easily done : a lew forged letter?, 
a few startling situations, and the fool believed you 
guilty, and deserted you. 

Hester. Did I not spurn you from me, and treat 
with contempt your base proposals? 

Thorpe. You did; and when I had succeeded in 
separating you from your husband, when I believed 
that you could be made to love mo, having no protec- 
tor, I found I had deceived myself, and you were a 
pure and noble woman. O, Hester, I am a fool to let 
my tongue betray me now ; but on your words hangs 
my fate. I thought I loved you as I could never love 
another; but she who is now the image of what you 
once was has aroused a mightier passion in my breast, 
and the love which was once yours, a thousand-fold 
deepened, goes out to her, your daughter. 

Hester. And what reparation do you propose for 
me, the woman you have robbed of her husband, 
branded with suspicion, and degraded in the eyes of 
the world ? 

Thorpe. Ample, Hester. Grace my wife, our house 
is yours. Beneath my roof an honored guest, the past 
will be forgotten as an idle tale, and all the future filled 
with peace and happiness. 

Hester. And my husband ? 

Thorpe. Poor fool ! let him be forgotten. He never 
loved you. Think you that, had I been lifted to your 
love, I should have allowed suspicion to break my trust 
in you? No, no; he was no true man. Let him rest 
here among the hills. Weak in intellect, enfeebled 
11 



162 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

in body, he will soon pass away, and, like your wrongs, 
be as soon forgotten. 

Hester. And you ask me to give you my daughter? 
Alfred Thorpe, you are a villain ! The murderer who 
lifts his hand against his brother man is a hero, yea, a 
saint, compared with a coward who, like you, lifts his 
voice to sully a woman's reputation ! I'd rather see 
my child again lost to rne — lost forever ! — than have 
her become the mate of such as you ! ( Crosses to r.) 

Thorpe. Yet I will have her! Mark me, Hester, 
she shall be mine ! I have stooped to you ; I will 
again, — but it shall be as the eagle stoops to seize 
its prey ! Remember, you are an outcast. The breath 
of suspicion, like the foul miasma, once it blasts the 
atmosphere about a woman, cannot easily be shaken 
off. You are weak and friendless ; I, strong and pow- 
erful. Once I set my schemes afoot, I pause not till I 
conquer. I will not now. I'll have your daughter. 
You may struggle and writhe, — proclaim your inno- 
cence, but who — who will believe you ? 

Phil (rushing on, a). I will — I, Philip Thorne. 
(Stands a, with right hand raised. Thokpk l. .of c.) 
Right, Alfred Thorpe, he was no true man ; he was a 
fool. But now the light is breaking in on his weak 
intellect; the clouds are lifting. Enfeebled in body? 
Ha! (Seizes Thorpe by throat with left hand.) Liar! 
But a few days ago, on a precipitous spur in yonder 
mountain, where but one could pass, I met a fierce and 
hungry bear, who clasped me in his arms. On the 
brink we struggled — he and I — in close embrace of 
life and death, my hand upon his throat, as now on 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 163 

» 
yours, I drove my knife into his heart, and flung him 

to the abyss below. {Lifts Thorpe, and throics him 

leith right hand, on stage.) Enfeebled — I? Ha, ha, 

ha! {Lifts his foot to trample on him.) 

{Enter from window it., Grace and Howard ; by door 
l., Amos. Hester runs up and places her hand on 
Phil's right shoulder.) 

Hester. Philip! ( Music, piano. Thorpe rises and 
goes to table.) 

PJiil (looking at her steadily). Hester, innocent and 
wronged one, dare I look thee in the face again ? No, 
no; on my knees, sit your feet — (about to kneel). 

Hester (raising him quickly) No, no, my husband ; 
all is forgotten, all forgiven. Take me to your arms; 
tell nic you believe me — 

Phil (clasping her in his arms). Innocent! inno- 
cent! My own dear wife! (Music stops. Thorpe 
goes to door, c.) 

Thorpe (looking in). They've won the game and 
ruined me. But I held the reins for twelve long years! 
Let thenf remember that. ( Goes off l. ; stops at win- 
dow and shakes fi st.) Remember that. \_JExit l. 

Hester. Dear Philip, that our union may be com- 
plete, look upon our daughter. Grace, my child, your 
father (steps to r.). 

Grace (running into Philip's arms). Father ! 

Phil. My child !^ The face did not deceive me; it 
was Hester's — Hester's, as I knew it ere — 

Hester (goes to him on r.). Ere the clouds obscured 
it, Philip ; but they've rolled away, and all is bright 
again. 



164 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Phil. Wondrous bright. (Left arm about Grace, 
'rigid arm about Hester ; looks first at one, then at the 
other.) The skies sire clear, and the stars of love are 
shining on my path. 

Amos (k.). Mrs. Thorne, we have beaten the enemy 
at last. 

Hester (gives hand). Thanks to you, dear, dear 
friend. 

Amos (crosses to PniL). Old boy, you're in luck 
(gives his hand). Your wife is a treasure ; and your 
daughter — 

Howard (gives Phil his hand). An angel! Ah, 
Phil, you've truly found out the world is what we 
make it. I wish you joy. 

Amos. I almost envy you. I wish that daughter 
was mine. 

Howard. It will not be my fault if she is not, fa- 
ther. 

Amos. Hallo! Hallo! What do you mean, sir? 
(Grace gives her hand to Howard.) Ho, ho ! I un- 
derstand. Town and country have found jout the 
truth that they cannot live without each other. (All 
stand a little r. of c, near window, in a group talk- 
ing.) 

Susy (outside c). O dear! boo-hoo! — '(Crying.) 
It's a shame ! 

(Enter Susy, c, with her apron to her eyes.) 

Amos. Hallo, Susy! What's the matter ? 
Susy. O dear ! I — I — I — boo-hoo — think it's 
a shame — so it is. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 165 

Amos. So do I, Susy, whatever it is. Who's been 
plaguing you? 

Susy. Chips — and — and — boo-hoo, Mr. Nay — 
Nay — Naylor — been — been fighting just awful. 

Amos. Fighting? What about? 

Susy. Me, sir ! I — I — I tried to stop 'era, but 
— but — they wo — wo — wouldn't, and they're all 
bru — bruised. 

{Enter Nat, c. / his clothes are torn ; his necktie hang- 
ing ; one eye blacked; one cheek puffed out ; face 
scratched, and hair ruffled. Comes down r.) 

Nat. Upon the moonlit plain we met as foes : 

lie bhicked my eye — I flattened out his nose. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

{Enter Chjps, c, in an equally forlorn condition, his 
nose bleeding, face scratched, &c. Both characters 
should present sig?is of having fought long and 
well.) 

Chips {coming down l.). Yes, darn you, you're a 
spunky chap, fur all your loose rhymes. 

Amos. What does this mean ? Explain yourselves. 

Chips. I ain't got nothin' to say. I was jest goin' 
by- 

Susy. Now stop. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, 
Chips? (Amos goes back to group, it.) 

Chips. Don't care : he called me a booby. 

Nat. I withdraw the appellation, Chips. 

Susy. There ! Now shake hands and be friends. 

Chips. I don't want to. 



166 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. You must. Come here, Mr. Naylor. ( Takes 
his hand and leads him over to Chips, l.) Now shake 
hands. Confess you have made fools of yourselves, and 
become friends. 

Nat {holds out his hand). I'm willing. 

Chip of a stubborn block, my dexter take — 
We will be friends — we will — 

Chips. O, 'miff said, — shake. (They shake hands.) 

(Enter Lucretia, r.) 

Lucretia. Has anybody seen my Titus ? 

(Enter Turtle from door l., a napkin about his neck, 
a huge slice of pie in one hand, and a piece of cheese 
in the other, eating. Turtle crosses stage/ at the 
same time Grace goes to table c, and sits. Susy 
sits in arm-chair l., keeping up a dumb show of con- 
versation with Chips on her right and Nat on her 
left. Howard goes up to vase of flowers in the 
passage.) 

Turtle. Were you looking for me, Miss Lucretia ? 

Lucretia. Yes, Titus; I was hungering for your 
society, thirsting for the music of your voice. 

Turtle. Hungering and thirsting. Now, that's true 
poetry — the language of the appetite. So was I. Ah, 
Lucretia, the cold shoulder has done its work. While 
it assuaged my appetite, it filled my soul with remorse 
(bites pie). Forgive me, Lucretia, I have awakened 
to a realizing sense of your virtues (bites cheese). It 
brought to my mind the time when I sat at your table 
and partook of a hot shoulder cooked by your own fair 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 167 

hands. It was luscious ! May I not hope that your 
fair hands may feed me — no, lead me — to many such 
feasts ? 

Lucretia. O Titus, we may he happy yet. So ro- 
mantic. 
(Phil stands r. c.,with his arm about Hester's icaist y 

looking off 'r. Moonlight on them. Amos comes down 

c. Howaud comes down to table, with floicers in his 

hand.) 

Amos. Well, Susy, are all your troubles over? 

Susy. Yes, father. Chips and I have made up our 
minds to — to — You tell him, Chips. 

Chips. O, certainly. Mr. Gaylord, I was telling 
Susy — no, Susy was telling me. Well, I'll come in 
and tell you to-morrow, — when I'm going by. 

Nat. When going by, he'll lift the latch, 

To let you know they've made a match. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Amos. Ha, ha ! I see. Well, I shall be at home. 
( Goes up c.) Phil, old fellow, why so silent ? 

Phil. For wonder. Amos, an hour ago, life was a 
dreary waste to me. How quick the change. There a 
daughter, and here a wife — the golden links of long 
ago put on again to bind me willing captive! 

Itester. We are both to blame. Had we trusted 
in each other, all that has marred our lives we should 
have escaped. We have been taught the lesson of faith 
through trial and tribulation in the lost years. Re- 
united, we will take it to our hearts. Now all is bright 
again. 




168 



015 785 390 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



Phil. Bright as yonder peak, my home no longer. 
Hester, here in this bustling world below I'll rear again 
our happy home; and though the tempest has beaten 
about us, and darkness obscured our path, — with con- 
fidence and trust to lead and guide, with strength and 
courage to subdue, we will journey on. The gloom 
dispersed, the shadows rolled away, the light of love 
upon our pathway, with Heaven's help we will tri- 
umphantly lift ourselves — Above the Clouds. 

Tableau. — Phil it. c, arm about Hester's waist, 
right hand pointing off through window / moonlight on 
them. Amos near door c, watching them. Grace 
seated at table, looking up at Howard, who stands back 
of table and places flowers in her hair. Susy in arm- 
chair l., with Cnirs leaning over it. Nat extreme L., 
with a pencil and note-book, scratching his head with 
pencil, as though trying to make a verse. Turtle and 
Lucretia extreme r., arm in arm, looking at Phil. 



[ Music, and Slow Curtain.] 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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015 785 390 9 W 



